And Blood Doesn't Count
by Atemue
Summary: When Sherlock Holmes is forced to leave for a case in Germany without John, it is supposed to be just a normal case but it turns out to be far more than both John and Sherlock have bargained for.
1. Chapter 1

Title: **And Blood Doesn't Count  
**Part: 1/?  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Mary Morstan rocks therefore she'll turn up, Happy Ending  
Pairings: Sherlock/John  
Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

* * *

Summary: Inspired by the song "Marie" sung by the German shanty/rock band Santiano ** www. youtube DOT com SLASH watch?v=S6D3gyMiZyM**

"Oh, excuse my poor attempts at getting on with life while you were pretending to be dead to the world and to your best friend", John scowled with obvious sarcasm. "Of course, I should have simply sat around those two years and waited for a miracle to happen instead of trying to keep myself occupied with something as ridiculous as the practice."

"Exactly!" Sherlock exclaimed, not getting the point at all.  
_

When Sherlock Holmes is forced to leave for a case in Germany without John, it is supposed to be just a normal case but it turns out to be far more than both John and Sherlock have bargained for.

* * *

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

And not to forget, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors! In all honesty, you are amazing.

* * *

**Lyrics in German:**

Wir tanzten mit Marie,  
du und ich, du und ich  
wir tanzten mit Marie,  
sie wollte mich.

Doch als das Meer mich rief,  
erreichte mich dein Brief  
das sie des Nachts entschlief,  
teurer Freund, teurer Freund  
das sie des Nachts entschlief,  
mein teurer Freund.

**Refrain:  
**Marie ist meine Braut,  
sie war schön, wunderschön  
Marie ist meine Braut,  
sie war schön.

Marie ist meine Braut,  
du hast sie mir geraubt,  
doch ich hab dich durchschaut,  
teurer Freund, teurer Freund,  
doch ich hab dich durchschaut,  
mein teurer Freund.

Seitdem war ich hier nicht mehr,  
lang ist's her, lang ist's her  
seitdem war ich hier nicht mehr  
lang ist's her.

Beim Landgang heute früh,  
da sah ich doch Marie,  
ganz plötzlich sah ich sie,  
teurer Freund, stell dir vor,  
ganz plötzlich sah ich sie,  
ja stell dir vor.

Refrain

Sie stand vor deinem Haus,  
ganz in weiß, ganz in weiß  
sie stand vor deinem Haus,  
ganz in weiß.

Es war ihr großer Tag,  
sie sah mich und erschrak,  
ich läg in einem Sarg,  
irgendwo, schrieb man ihr,  
ich läg in einem Sarg,  
das schrieb man ihr.

Refrain

Ich las in ihrem Brief,  
Hundert Mal, Hundert Mal,  
ich las in ihrem Brief  
einhundert Mal.

Die Schrift war mir bekannt,  
die Lüge, die dort stand,  
sie war von deiner Hand,  
mein teurer Freund.

Refrain x2

**Song lyrics translation:  
**We danced with Marie,  
you and I, you and I  
we danced with Marie,  
she wanted me.

But when the sea called to me,  
your letter reached me,  
telling that she faded away at night  
dearest friend, dearest friend,  
that she faded away at night,  
my dearest friends

**Refrain:  
**Marie is my bride,  
she was beautiful, gorgeous  
Marie is my bride,  
She was beautiful.

Marie is my bride,  
but you stole her away,  
however, I've seen through you,  
dearest friend, dearest friend,  
however, I've seen through you,  
my dearest friend.

Since then I haven't been here,  
been a long time, been a long time,  
since then I haven't been here,  
been a long time.

At shore leave early today,  
I certainly saw Marie,  
suddenly I saw her,  
dearest friend, imagine that,  
suddenly I saw her,  
yes, imagine that.

Refrain

She stood in front of your house,  
all in white, all in white,  
she stood in front of your house,  
all in white.

It was her great day,  
she saw me and got alarmed,  
I would be lying in a coffin,  
Somewhere, they wrote her,  
I would be lying in a coffin,  
that's what they wrote her.

Refrain

I read her letter  
A hundred times, a hundred times,  
I read her letter,  
one hundred times.

The writing was familiar to me,  
The lie standing there,  
was written by your hand,  
my dearest friend.

Refrain x2

* * *

"I'm not sure this is a good idea, Sherlock."

John Watson was sitting on the edge of the big bed that took up most of the bedroom belonging to his best friend, watching the taller man pack some spare belongings with painstaking precision into a small overnight bag. Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world, did not even deem the comment worthy of looking up from what he was doing.

"Well, if you hadn't been in the unlucky position of being unable to leave your office behind, my dear John, you could have simply come with me, thus resolving the small problem of our separation", he answered coolly, his tone neither sympathetic nor angry. Shaking his head in exasperation, the former army doctor sent a half-hearted glare towards the dark-haired man.

"Oh, excuse me for my poor attempts at getting on with life while you were pretending to be dead to the world and to your best friend", he scowled with obvious sarcasm. "Of course, I should have simply sat around those two years and waited for a miracle to happen instead of trying to keep myself occupied with something as ridiculous as the practice."

"Exactly!" Sherlock exclaimed, not getting the point at all as he finally looked up towards the smaller blond still sitting on the bed. Rolling his eyes, John threw his hands in the air, caving in.

"All right, I give up! This is just lovely. Why the hell did I ever think I missed this again?"

Sherlock couldn't help a small quirk of his lips in response to his friend's antics.

"Don't be overdramatic, John", he reprimanded, though his tone was far gentler than he would have used towards anyone else. "It's just a few days, maybe a week at best, if the case even turns out to be any more challenging than a seven. I rather doubt it, though. The Germans tend to be just as stupid as the people at New Scotland Yard, therefore I wouldn't worry too much."

"But I can't help it, Sherlock", John replied softly now, the bite gone from his voice. "It's been barely a year since you returned from your self-imposed trip to destroy Moriarty's network and only a few weeks since our relationship changed. I know this sounds crazy but something in my gut's not sitting right and the last time that happened I ended up witnessing my best friend jumping from a fucking rooftop, no matter how fake that one turned out to be in the end."

Sherlock, finally finished with his bag, zipped it closed, before setting it in a corner and taking a seat beside the smaller man on the bed. The consulting detective wore a very open expression of frustration and regret on his face as he looked at John, observing the other man's every frown and gesture.

"I AM sorry about not telling you, John", he said more than a little perturbed, "and you know I had no choice there, I've told you so."

"And I've forgiven you long ago, Sherlock", the blond doctor interjected.

"But you cannot allow your feelings to dictate your actions. There are no facts indicating that there is any danger ahead, at least no more than the usual that come with solving crimes. If there was any serious trouble such as we encountered with Moriarty, Mycroft would have known long before now and warned us."

As always, Sherlock grimaced at the mere mention of his brother's name but it was obvious his determination to cheer John up counted for more in his eyes than the reminder of his brother's existence.

John couldn't help a smile when he noticed the sour expression, knowing the consulting detective's thoughts too well. He let out a defeated sigh, daringly leaning sideways until his head rested against the other man's, a gesture Sherlock usually considered with contempt, except on very few, special occasions.

The doctor noticed that he seemed lucky since there was no protest this time. Instead Sherlock was staring out of the window, lost in his thoughts. Still, his arm automatically wound around the smaller man's waist the moment John rested his head against the dark curls of his best friend and current boyfriend.

Sherlock allowed himself some minutes to be lost in his mind palace John sitting by his side, eyes closed and breathing him in. Finally, the consulting detective's eyes focused once more and he gazed at John from the corner of his eyes, his head never moving an inch.

"We have six hours left until I need to leave for my flight", Sherlock told the doctor matter-of-factly. "How about we use the time sensibly?"

Of course, if Sherlock used the word 'sensibly' it immediately made John wary.

"What exactly are you thinking about?" he wanted to know. Sherlock answered his question with a turn of his head, showing John the smirk on his face.

"Why, take me to bed, John Watson", the younger man declared gleefully. The doctor was so surprised by the demand that he started to laugh.

"Why, Sherlock Holmes, who would've thought?" he snickered, before returning the large smirk. "Well, Mr Holmes, it would be my pleasure."

And with those words, both men turned their heads until their lips met in a hungry kiss.

SHxJWxSHxJW

Not even twenty four hours later, John was working at the surgery, already missing Sherlock terribly. Usually, when the consulting detective was not busy with a case, he texted John every three minutes with something ridiculous. The doctor had made it a habit to turn his mobile to mute, though he could never make himself put it away entirely. As a result, he felt its vibration every time the other man sent him a text, even when he was talking to patients.

Thankfully enough, he was well known through his blog. Ever since Sherlock had returned with a bang, his patients had been forewarned. Some of them even turned out to be former clients and all they ever did, when they heard the buzz of the mobile in the doctor's pocket, was give a wry smile and ask in dry fashion.

"Case again, Dr. Watson?"

This, more often than not, John answered with an equally wry smile and a shake of his head.

"Nope, boredom", before he added in a mutter, "At least I hope for his sake that's what it is."

If he was able to, John made certain that he was available during a case. For this reason alone he accepted a fellow doctor into his practice a week after he forgave Sherlock's stunt. The woman now working alongside him was just a bit younger than himself. Her name was Dr. Mary Morstan and she had been working at a clinic in Cardiff before personal matters forced her to move to London. From the beginning she was made aware of John's reason for accepting another doctor - that he needed someone to cover for him in case he was required to be somewhere with Sherlock.

Dr. Morstan turned out to be a big fan of his blog and Sherlock's case-solving. In fact, a week before she was supposed to start in John's practice, she unexpectedly became a client herself, when she started to receive anonymous presents of very big and very authentic pearls along with a small note informing her of a betrayal.

By the end of the case she was a rich woman who never needed to work again if she chose not to. However, John Watson had found a soul mate in her with her urge to help and to be useful, traits which he himself shared. She didn't want to stop working as a doctor and so she became his assistant, taking over patients every time Sherlock burst into the practice or sent a text with details of a new case where he needed John's assistance.

Naturally John was supposed to accompany Sherlock to Germany but this plan was scuppered almost as soon as it had been created by a series of unfortunate events. At that time, their main case was on hold until they could get overseas so Sherlock had accepted another small case from a client to kill time. It was nothing too strenuous for the consulting detective's brain, but it required some legwork, which they both knew John liked.

Unfortunately, what both men did not foresee was the stupidity of one of the suspects in the new case who thought the best solution would be to break into John's practice. Sherlock later declared in a rather vicious rant that he could not fathom what kind of twisted idea had urged the man to think he would find important evidence in his partner's practice of all places, but that was where the man went.

Yet, the timing could not have been worse - at least for the criminal. As he was sneaking in, he failed to notice that both John and Mary were there, sorting through paperwork. ("A greater idiot I've not met", Sherlock venomously declared afterwards. "How did he fail to see the door was not tightly locked?") In the suspect's defence, their rooms within the practice were at the back of the house, so no light could be seen from the street to indicate their presence.

Both parties only realised their failure in noticing the other when Mary nearly stumbled over the man on her way from the kitchen, pot of hot tea in her hand. Unfortunately for the criminal, that was the moment of his second mistake. Thinking Mary was simply a helpless nurse who would serve very well as a hostage, he did not realise she was an army veteran. This was, in fact, one of the reasons she and John had got on so well. In the end, the suspect was taken into custody by the police, howling in fury and pain. His shoulder was still wet from where she had hit him with the scalding hot tea and one of his fingers was broken.

Regrettably for John and Sherlock, in a stroke of bad luck Mary had been hit by her attacker, straining her hand. Thankfully nothing was broken, but the hand was injured enough that John declared she was not allowed to use it for at least four weeks to allow it to heal properly. This, of course, was within the timeline when John was supposed to accompany Sherlock on his trip for Germany.

Mary tried to persuade John to go anyway as she knew how important the trip was to both of them but, as Sherlock grumpily declared, John was far too generous to leave her with an efficiently run practice, unable to perform to full capability. On the other hand, Sherlock was also unable to delay the journey as it was obvious the trail would get cold if he waited too long. In the end, they had to resign themselves to the fact that Sherlock would go alone while John took care of his practice and acted as contact to Scotland Yard, since it was Lestrade's case.

The former army doctor continued to be restless about Sherlock's departure. He couldn't help it, something about the whole case sat wrong with him somehow. He mentioned his worries to Mary as well as Greg, both assuring him that maybe it was just because Sherlock hadn't done anything alone since his return from the dead over a year ago. That would make sense, because John had been furious when Sherlock had suddenly appeared in front of him, not to mention that he had fooled him with one of his many disguises. A simple, laughable disguise, to be honest, one that John would have seen through on any other day but he hadn't been expecting Sherlock to be alive so he had been easily fooled.

Repayment for the consulting detective followed immediately. As they happened to be in his consulting rooms at the practice, John was able to hit Sherlock twice before one of his assistants came in, alarmed by the noise of the fight. She nearly deafened half the practise with her screaming because she thought John was being attacked.

"Why would she think I was attacking you, if there was no blood on you but plenty on me?" Sherlock asked in disbelief, white tissue still stuck to his heavily bleeding nose. John didn't answer the question, but threw him a rather dirty look.

It took him days before he decided to give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt over his actions and at least meet him to have an intense talk. Their reunion at Baker Street included a lot of shouting on John's side and a rather cold, furious declaration from Sherlock as he unravelled all the threats Jim Moriarty had thrown at him that fateful day on the rooftop. In the end, they declared a rather shaky truce. John's main condition had been that Sherlock, would never, ever again do anything like that without informing him. That he would never leave the former army doctor behind. If Sherlock wanted John in on cases, it would have to be as a partner, not a lackey only good enough to fetch the mobile phone or as a stooge, forced to make deductions just so Sherlock could tear them apart to his heart's content.

Sherlock agreed easily enough, much to John's surprise. It was only later, when months had gone by, that he realised, mostly through Sherlock's actions and some snippets of what happened during his absence, that the consulting detective must have been missing him nearly as much as John had been missing him. Of course, the younger man never admitted to nor denied that realisation, but his silence spoke volumes.

True to their agreement, after their debate Sherlock had never excluded John again. If they were unable to solve a case together, the consulting detective at least kept John informed by text messages, and he was willing to ask for backup, though only through John, never from Lestrade.

This was the first time Sherlock would be gone from London for a week or so, depending on how fast he was able to find the clues in Germany and solve the case. It was different from before, of course, because nothing was happening behind John's back, and every step was discussed. The former army doctor was being kept up to date nearly every hour by text messages from Sherlock. Most of them declared his utter boredom almost from the moment he stepped onto the plane to Hamburg. However, two messages bore requests for something to be checked with Lestrade: an English driving licence and the description of a middle aged man that Sherlock suspected of being an international criminal who was also wanted in Britain.

This was the message John received two days after Sherlock's departure. He had forwarded Sherlock's inquiries to Greg and met up with him two hours later to retrieve the results. Lestrade had been able to confirm the consulting detective's suspicions and John dutifully forwarded this information back to his flatmate. However, he received no reply after that last text. At first, he tried not to worry too much. Surely Lestrade's confirmation must have been a hot lead, keeping Sherlock busy enough that he was unable to use his mobile? Maybe he was already finished and on his way home, wanting to surprise John after the case turned out to be 'dull, just as expected'.

However, as the third day arrived and neither was there any message from Sherlock, nor the man himself back at Baker Street, John's unease grew and neither Greg nor Mary could deny any longer that this was unusual. Trying to keep himself from thinking too much, John busied himself with his patients in the morning. During his break, he read the paper, keeping up with events in Britain as well as the rest of the world, telling himself he was simply keeping an eye out for interesting cases for after Sherlock's return.

Unfortunately no new, strange cases caught his eye, either here or in Germany. The only noticeable event being reported in that country was the blowing up of an old building in a town in Eastern Germany whose name John could not be bothered to remember. However, nothing pointed to any kind of crime, simply a tragic accident which so far had cost the lives of three people.

Evening came and went. No further news from Sherlock. By now John was desperate enough that he sent a text to Mycroft asking for reassurance. If anyone knew how Sherlock was doing out of the country, it should be the elder Holmes. That he had received no reply was worrying the doctor even more than he was comfortable admitting.

John ended up spending a restless night. He was unable to sleep and the few times his eyes closed from exhaustion, he was awakened again by nightmares he could not even remember. Morning came far too soon and it was with dread that John checked his mobile phone - no new messages there. Of course not, it had been sitting beside his head the whole night. If a text or phone call had arrived, he would never had missed it.

Resigned, he got out of bed, contemplating what he could do to find out how Sherlock was. He was so immersed in his thoughts, that he did not realise there was a figure standing in the doorway to the living room until long after he started making tea in the kitchen.

Blinking, he returned to the living room, uncertain whether he had seen a person or not, but his eyes had not deceived him. Mycroft Holmes was standing in the doorway, silent and with rather the opposite of his usual appearance. John never thought he would see the day when the older Holmes showed anything but aloofness or indifference on his face. He could not have been more mistaken, but the doctor wished with all his might that he had because what he was seeing confirmed his worst fears.

Mycroft looked defeated. His shoulders slumped, his suit looked as if he had worn it for weeks, his hair was unkempt, dark rings decorated his eyes and there was no life left within them. Mycroft was pale and the gaze he directed at John contained a mixture of pity and deep sadness.

One look at that face was all it took for John to know what the man was about to tell him and he could not bear it. Not again. The elder Holmes seemed to know that, because he opened his mouth more quickly than the doctor himself could.

"John... I", was all he was able to utter in a quiet, broken voice before he was interrupted.

"No, no! I don't want to hear it. It's not true. It can't be true. Not again, please God, no!"

John had become louder with each word spoken, his speech more rapid, so that by the end he was obviously in hysterics. Not allowing Mycroft to reply, he turned on his heels and stormed back into the bedroom, the one he and Sherlock had shared since the moment they got together. Blindly he reached for his mobile, in his haste knocking it from the bed. It had nothing to do with the tears in his eyes, or the tremor in his hands, oh no.

Shaking hands grabbed the device from the ground and with trembling fingers he typed a message that seemed to take forever.

PLEASE, TELL ME YOU'RE NOT DEAD!

He hit 'send' rather harder than he needed to and waited five long, agonising minutes. He knew Sherlock, knew their relationship and the agreement they had. His friend, his partner, would never ignore a message as dire as this. Not now, not anymore, no matter what he was doing right then.

Five minutes ticked by. Then ten. There was a hesitant knock on the door. Mycroft. John took one last, desperate look at his phone before throwing it blindly across the room. He buried his face in his hands with a sob.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry I only noticed now that the link to the video from Santiano didn't work. It's been a while since I last posted on , I totally forgot about the misery with the links. I added the address now. Just exchange my "DOT" and "SLASH" with the real things and you watch out for the space and you should be just fine. Otherwise you can always try to search the video for yourself on youtube by using "Santiano - Marie" you should find something. Thanks to everyone who took a look into the first chapter. I do hope you'll like the second one.

* * *

Title: **And Blood Doesn**'**t Count  
**Part: 2/?  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Happy Ending  
Pairings: Sherlock/John  
Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

**Summary:** A loss that could not have been only a year to recuperate since the last time Sherlock was ripped from him, John is now facing a repeat of this loss. Yet, just as he thinks it couldn't get any worse, his sister shows up with a warning.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

And as always, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors!

* * *

"I'm sorry, John, for keeping you in the dark for a whole day, but I'm sure you understand I wanted to be certain myself before I came to you with such news", Mycroft Holmes explained, voice quiet and lifeless, simply stating facts in a monotone. He sat at the kitchen table with John, both nursing a cup of cold tea in their hands, both looking pale and exhausted.

_No_, John thought, as he glanced quickly over to the elder Holmes. Even though his face by now was clear of any emotion, his whole posture screamed misery. _You wanted to ensure that it was really your brother they were talking about, that no one was trying to fool you, that no one had simply made a terrible error, a case of mistaken identity._

"I have some of my people over there. They haven't completed their investigation, but there's no doubt that the remains they found contain Sherlock's DNA. His contact in Hamburg also confirmed that there had been a tipoff regarding Rostock, though even he is not sure what exactly Sherlock was doing inside that building. Knowing my brother, I'm certain that he was gathering some new clues and chased after their lead.

"We also checked for foul play but as far as the investigation stands, there's nothing indicating that a third party was involved. I know this will be no consolation to you, but this seems to be nothing but an accident. The building was dilapidated, the occupants were old and the landlord was rather miserly with money. Nothing had been done to the building for years, no one bothered to check if the gas connections had been adequately maintained. The last company that did so had done a poor job, which explains of course, why they went out of business months ago. Still, the explosion was definitely caused by a gas leak, not foul play", Mycroft hesitated before he added softly, "no Moriarty, John."

"Well, that's a relief, I guess", the doctor declared scathingly into his cup before he glanced at Mycroft with a weary gaze. "I'm sorry, that was inappropriate."

"Don't worry about it, John, I understand", the elder Holmes waved his comment away with a careless gesture. He finally put his cup down, contents still untouched before slowly getting to his feet.

"John, I apologise for leaving on such short notice, but I need to... Mummy... she doesn't know yet. I reasoned, after everything that happened, you deserved to be the first to know. Will you be all right if I leave you alone now? Should I inform Mrs Hudson...?"

"Oh God, Mrs Hudson, we have to tell her", John sighed without thinking before he shook his head in disbelief. For a moment it seemed as though he were in a dream and would wake up any second. Everything felt as if he were outside his own body, watching from afar. Mycroft was speaking, but his words reached him as if he were underwater, hollow and barely understandable. Time felt meaningless, while the elder Holmes waited patiently for an answer. It seemed like hours before John realised the other man had been asking him a question at all.

He blinked, finally emerging from his dreamlike state to notice that Mycroft was still there. Not to mention, he was holding a cup of cold tea himself, while trying to grasp the fact that Sherlock was not here to snipe at his brother disdainfully. Sherlock was supposed to be dead, his body burned to ashes by a stupid gas leak far, far away in a foreign country and for a case John was not sure was even that important.

Clenching his teeth in an attempt to get his emotions under control, the former army doctor finally recalled Mycroft's offer to break the news to Mrs Hudson and also his question about John's mental state. The doctor couldn't help the humourless bark of laughter that left his mouth.

"Will I be alright?" John asked rather hoarsely. "I don't think I'll ever be alright again. Honestly, Mycroft? I'm not sure I can do this, not again. I've already had to bury Sherlock once and back then he was only my friend, who in the end turned out to have faked his own death! And now, one year after his return, you ask me to let go of the man who isn't only my flatmate and best friend but also the man I happen to love more than anyone else in the world. Fuck Mycroft, I can't do this!"

In his frustration, John slammed his fist on the table with as much strength as he could muster, tears spilling from his eyes. He'd been so successful that first time, so good at keeping his emotions at bay. He remembered crying only twice over Sherlock's "death"; first when he watched strangers taking away the lifeless, bloodied body of his best friend, still warm but without a pulse, and the second time when he stood in front of the grave to ask for a miracle.

This time though? Sherlock and he were closer than ever and not just because of the change in their relationship. Not just because John had to admit to himself that he had been madly in love with the idiot for some time now. No, that was an important factor certainly, but what had pulled he and Sherlock closer than ever had been that talk, when both of them had laid their cards on the table, building up new, honest rules for their future life as friends, as flatmates and as partners – long before they became lovers. There had been real sincerity in Sherlock that had not been there before his return.

John liked to think some of this had been due to Sherlock's shock at his violent reaction, his anger over the consulting detective's deceit. Whatever it was, Sherlock had honoured their agreement and in turn John had been more willing to be used as scapegoat or an experiment, simply because Sherlock did not do it behind his back, but explained his plans and thoughts beforehand.

And John could admit he was besotted enough that he was willing to go through with whatever the brilliant mind of his flatmate came up with. Their worst case had occurred after Sherlock's return when he'd succeeded in nearly driving them both mad by inhaling a rather dangerous hallucinogenic drug which had already frightened two people to death. Their previous experience with drugs on Dartmoor had been child's play compared to the later one.

Really, he wasn't sure how to deal with the heartbreak he was currently suffering through. This was worse than anything he'd felt before, even more awful than the first time he thought Sherlock had died. This time he had nothing to hope for. Mycroft assured him there was no case that required Sherlock to fake his death a second time, no Moriarty to threaten people dear to the consulting detective's heart.

It was a horrible, devastating, but incontrovertible fact. Sherlock, his Sherlock, was no more. Gone, burned, dead. John wanted to die as well.

John looked up at Mycroft, eyes tired and defeated.

"Go on, Mycroft, tell your parents. I'm sure they need you more than I do now. I'm a grown man, I'll survive somehow. I saw parents at the burials of their children back when I was serving in Afghanistan. No parent wants to bury their child, it's the worst thing ever. Be there for them, Mycroft, they'll need your support. And tell your mum I'm sorry I was not there with Sherlock."

The elder Holmes gave him a rather forced smile, shaking his head.

"I know Mummy, she'll be glad that you weren't there too, or she would have two lives to mourn", Mycroft told him. "She is rather fond of you, John. Expect her invitation to join my parents later this week at their home. They don't want you to go through this alone, and your presence would be a comfort to them."

John nodded silently, knowing that Mycroft was right. He'd met Sherlock's parents briefly on the day he'd finally decided to talk to Sherlock after his return from the dead. The pleasant, elderly couple the consulting detective had impatiently thrown out of his door seemed nice enough. At first John had thought they were clients. After spending so much time with both Holmes brothers, he always suspected their parents to be a posh, rich elderly couple. Hell, he wouldn't have been surprised if they were dead from the way those two men talked about them sometimes, so to hear Sherlock casually mention that the ordinary couple he'd just seen in passing were his parents had been rather shocking.

After he had mended his relationship with Sherlock and moved back into Baker Street, at the younger man's insistence, John had met Mrs Holmes personally. Violet Holmes visited unannounced at the beginning of December when Sherlock had been out. It was at that time John noticed an obvious resemblance between mother and son because her visit had been rather calculated. She'd evidently wanted to meet her son's best friend whilst he was absent as well as invite them both to Christmas dinner.

She had known asking Sherlock himself would turn into a rather strenuous fight, due to his stubbornness. Having been an avid reader of John's blog however, she had determined long ago that John could be just as stubborn as her son so she decided it would be a rather good idea for them to join forces and leave Sherlock no other choice but to agree to the invitation.

She'd been right, of course. Sherlock had moaned and grumbled and pouted for days but in the end he had agreed, especially when John threatened to go alone and simply leave his friend behind at Baker Street at Mrs Hudson's mercy. It did help, of course that he'd also mentioned casually that he was looking forward to hearing childhood stories of Sherlock from Mycroft and mum.

Christmas dinner with the Holmes had been rather stressful, just as expected with both Mycroft and Sherlock present, but the elder Holmes couple had been lovely, and their mother a surprisingly strong matriarch who had her sons well under control.

Siger Holmes, Sherlock's father had been in the army himself and he'd been rather eager to trade stories with John. He had not been an army doctor himself, but he'd still seen a lot of action and he was most interested in what had changed since his own days. John had certainly been able to give him a good impression of contemporary army life as well as a few amusing anecdotes about things that had happened on quieter days during his military service. All in all, Sherlock's parents were absolutely normal, and easygoing, accepting John into the family with open arms.

In the end, John and Sherlock had stayed till New Year and after they returned home John had stayed in contact with the elder couple, keeping them up to date with their life, something Sherlock always neglected to do. John knew the senior Holmeses worried endlessly about both their children, though mostly about Sherlock who readily resorted to legwork if the case required it, as opposed to Mycroft who preferred to control from the shadows safely seated behind his desk.

Remembering the fond stories Mrs Holmes had told John on quiet December evenings in front of a cheerfully flickering fire, whilst Sherlock and Mycroft thought they were smoking secretly outside, he knew that this woman who loved her two sons deeply would take the loss extremely hard. Harder than John ever could because he loved Sherlock in a different way, still deeply and honestly, but not as a mother who had given birth and raised her child, had known him his entire life.

John realised now that he'd become part of this family without even knowing it. Over half a year ago, he'd been welcomed with open arms as a friend and later embraced even tighter when he and Sherlock told them of their relationship. He would not allow grief to consume him so much that he wouldn't be there for the woman who had been so accepting of him since their first meeting. Neither would he keep her from mothering him a bit. He knew from watching the families of his fallen comrades, just how important such strong bonds could be even without blood to tie the parties together. Friends, girlfriends, fiancées, wives, everyone stood together at the end, embraced and comforted each other, no matter what.

It didn't lessen the pain of loss but it helped to lessen the burden, the knowledge that one was not alone to bear it. Sighing, John looked up at Mycroft, tears still flowing, but for once he didn't care. It wasn't as if the elder Holmes didn't know all of his most embarrassing secrets anyway so what was one more tear to add to the list?

"Tell me whenever your mother wants to see me. I'll take the next cab to get there."

Turning around with a satisfied nod, the older man walked to the door of the flat, ready to bear the ill news to the occupant of 221A.

"No, John", Mycroft added in a soft voice, not turning around. "I'll send the car when Mummy is ready."

With those words he vanished through the door leaving John in the silence of the flat and with his own devastating thoughts. He stood rooted to the spot for what felt like hours, the quiet nearly overwhelming him, until loud crying in an old woman's voice told him that his landlady had been informed.

Sitting down at the table in slow motion, he buried his head in his arms and allowed himself a few precious minutes of grief before he had to face the rest of the world.

SHxJWxSHxJW

Three days after the devastating news, and several long conversations with Mrs Hudson as well as Greg, a black car arrived at Baker Street and John left for Sherlock's parents.

SHxJWxSHxJW

John sighed when the sleek black car finally arrived back at 221B Baker Street. The previous three weeks spent with Mr and Mrs Holmes, as well as Mycroft most of the time, had been rather strenuous yet John dreaded his return to the flat, where everything would remind him of Sherlock, just as it had done last time. Even with Violet's promise to call every evening, it was little comfort for the pain he still felt and which he knew she shared.

Thanking the driver for the service, even though it had of course been an order from the elder Holmes brother, John took his bag and opened the door to the silent house. Mrs Hudson was still away at her sister's, he knew. It was he who had sent her there in first place, not wanting his landlady to be alone after she had been forced to mourn Sherlock's loss a second time.

He had fewer worries about Greg Lestrade because, while the Detective Inspector had been just as shocked and devastated as his landlady, he was sadly more used to the loss of comrades and friends. Besides, he couldn't put everything aside and simply mourn. He still had a job to do, to finish as he called it, 'that cursed case, that cost us all so dearly'.

Nonetheless, even work couldn't prevent Greg from attending the memorial service Sherlock's parents held in their son's memory. It was all they were able to do since this time there would be no remains to lay to rest. Almost all of Sherlock's body had been consumed by the fire that followed the explosion. German police, as well as Mycroft's own people, assumed that the consulting detective must have been unfortunate enough to be standing close to the heart of the blast when it occurred. Some charred bones, enough to extract DNA for establishing identity, was all that remained.

Violet had discussed with John and Mycroft about retrieving them so that they could be put to rest in a proper grave but the doctor had been reluctant to agree to this. After the Holmes family had inquired further, he admitted that he couldn't bear the thought of staring at a grave with Sherlock's name on it ever again. It was too painful, brought back too many bad memories and if he was honest with himself, he did not need a meaningless grave with some ashes to remember his dearest friend and beloved.

Surprisingly enough all the family agreed with his decision. Mrs Holmes declared she would bury the ashes of her son in the back garden under the tree that Sherlock used to climb for some reason she never understood other than that it was for an experiment. In this way, she could always look at the place and remember her youngest son.

Mycroft simply agreed and John liked this idea far better than the thought of a cold gravestone. He was sure Sherlock would have disliked that anyway. He had had nothing nice to say about his first burial, which he later admitted to having witnessed in secret.

The Holmes family had held a small memorial under that same tree just three days ago with only the closest of friends attending, including Mrs Hudson, Molly Hooper, Mike Stamford, Mary Morstan and Greg Lestrade. Surprisingly enough the Detective Inspector also brought condolence cards from some of his people including Donovan and Anderson. Sherlock's parents accepted them all with dignity and gratitude.

Now that the memorial was over and everyone was being forced to slowly return to normal life, John decided it was time he learned to get on too, just as he'd done three years ago. Violet had been a bit worried at first, but he had overheard Mary promising her that she would keep an eye on John. Instinctively, he had been a bit offended about the idea that he needed to be watched over by anyone, but in the end he was grown-up enough to realise that he'd always been a "people" person and the thought of not being too alone brought some comfort, although only a small amount.

Now the only thing left was his decision about where "home" should be. The first time, John had been unable to set foot into Baker Street for nearly two years. He didn't want a repeat of that fiasco. Mrs Hudson had been rather peeved with him for not only leaving her alone at Baker Street but also for not visiting at least once in a while. That was really not the way he wanted to deal with grief again.

For the moment, John was only sure that he couldn't sleep in the room that Sherlock and he had shared since their relationship had become intimate. He'd been unable to bear that thought from the day Mycroft had visited with the devastating news. In fact, he hadn't even had the strength to retrieve his mobile phone, which he'd thrown somewhere across the room in a fit of desperation and grief. Life had somehow continued for him without his phone anyway and the bed in his old room was still there and comfortable enough.

Nodding in decision, John heaved his bag up to his old rooms, determined to keep himself occupied for at least a few hours with unpacking, no matter how little he really had to take care of.

Busying himself with this self-appointed task, John barely had the chance to open his bag when he heard the sound of the front door banging open, followed by quick footsteps and then the door to his living room being pushed open just as noisily.

"John? John, for God's sake answer me right now!"

Harry. The strident voice of his sister was unmistakable, though strangely enough she sounded rather hysterical, which was new. Usually his sister was either angry, depressed or, in her few sober moments, cheerful. However, frightened and urgent were tones he was unused to and this was the main reason he immediately answered her call by hastening downstairs.

"Harry? What are you doing here?" he greeted his sister where she stood, not even fully inside the living room. He stepped forward, inspecting her as he came closer. What he saw shocked him. She looked haunted. Not her usual look of intoxication, nor that angry look she sometimes gave him when she thought he was messing too much with her life (which he was not, he sometimes just couldn't help but being concerned for her health), but an honest look of fear.

She seemed to have been in a hurry to reach Baker Street. Her clothes didn't match, as if she'd thrown on the first thing she laid her hands on. Her shoulder-long hair was unkempt and wild, her make up missing and her eyes were red from stress and lack of sleep instead of too much alcohol. When she spotted John in the doorway to the living room, an unusual look of relief crossed her face.

"John, thank god, you're here!" she said quickly, voice urgent as she started to pace nervously inside the living room. "We don't have a lot of time, but John, you need to get out of here, quickly. I'm very sorry, they've found out and they're coming over. I was able to overtake them but only by a few minutes."

She had spoken so quickly at the end that he had a hard time following what she was saying, let alone understanding what was going on.

"Harry, what exactly are you talking about? Why do you want me to leave and who's going to arrive here?"

Stomping forward, finally with a familiar look of stubbornness on her face, his sister grabbed his hand and tried to pull him towards the door.

"I'll explain on the way, let's just go now, please, before it's..."

She trailed off, her face going pale as she stared at the still-open door to the flat. John, who had been watching her in disbelief, wanted to look up, to see what his sister was so shocked about, but then an all too familiar female voice sounded from the entrance that explained everything.

"Hello, Johnny."

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

Title: **And Blood Doesn**'**t Count  
**Part: 3/?  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Happy Ending  
Pairings: Sherlock/John  
Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

Summary: No matter how much he wishes for it, John is just not allowed to grieve in peace. Instead he has to deal with people he never wanted to see again and who now decide to force him into something he doesn't want. Can an unexpected friend from childhood days offer him strength when everything threatens to become too much to bear?

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

And as always, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors! You are a Saint!

* * *

Gritting his teeth in anger, John shot Harry an understanding look, even as his sister squeezed their interlaced hands harder in fear. Forcing his face into an unreadable mask, he turned to confront the two people standing in the doorway with a calmness he did not feel.

"Hello mother, hello father!"

"John", his father greeted back formally, while his mother held out a hand expectantly, obviously waiting for him to step forward and either take her hand or kiss her cheek as he had done as a child. He refused both, only taking a step forward to stand protectively in front of his sister.

Noticing the movement, Mrs Watson let her hand fall before throwing a frosty look at the oldest Watson sibling which her husband mirrored. They both strode inside the room without invitation.

"I see Harriet has reached you before us, intending to spread all kind of nonsense, no doubt", his father said with a disapproving voice. "Well, I'm glad we were able to get here in time."

"Indeed", his mother agreed, stepping forward with open arms and a comforting look so fake that John had a hard time hiding his disgust at his parents' antics. "Oh Johnny, we heard all about that flatmate of yours and we're so sorry. I know this must be a rather hard time for you so your father and I have decided this would be as good a moment as any for our family to finally mend and pull together. We will all support you through your hard times, rest assured.

"As a starting point, how about you leave this...", it was obvious she wanted to say something unkind but was able to hold her tongue at the last second, "living arrangement for a while and come home? Aunt Antonia is with us at the moment, I'm sure she'd love to see you. And she's brought family. Her recently-married daughter, along with her husband and two of his sisters. Rather nice girls really, Johnny."

For a moment, John really hoped he was hearing things but, remembering his parents, his mother especially, and recalling the last time he had spoken to them, it was obvious what she was hinting at.

"Let me get this straight", he said through clenched teeth, his shoulders shaking in clearly-repressed anger. Even Harry inched away from him towards the door. "I've just lost my best friend, who I happen to have been in a relationship with, and not even four weeks later you two show up as if nothing occurred all those years ago and try to set me up with some woman I know fuck all about?"

"Johnny, your language!" his mother complained scandalised, but that was the wrong thing to say. Instead of calming down, he snapped.

"Fuck my language, mother! I'm certainly not interested in marrying, therefore whatever you want, my answer is 'NO'! And now leave, if you please!"

"John? Is everything all right? Should I call the police?"

Startled, John noticed his landlady standing outside the door, her look hesitant.

"Mrs Hudson? Aren't you supposed to be at your sister's?" he asked confused, calming down slightly.

"Oh pish posh, what would I do at my sister's when I know there are people here who need me just as much", she replied resolutely, a half-hearted smile on her face. She stepped inside and turned to Harry, who had retreated towards the door by now, small and intimidated.

"Harry Watson, isn't it?" Mrs Hudson asked kindly. "We met last year at Sherlock's welcome back party, remember?"

"The one Sherlock didn't want to have", John mumbled with a snort, a small, wistful smile twitching around his lips.

"That would be the one", Mrs Hudson agreed, the same smile reflected on her own face. "Still, I think he could've stayed till the end of the night, instead of vanishing all of a sudden, don't you? The manners of that man sometimes!"

She shook her head before turning back to the still-cowering Harry.

"But I digress, my dear. Are you all right?"

Harry nodded mutely while John turned back to his expectant-looking parents.

"Johnny, your manners are certainly lacking, that really needs to change", his mother criticised sternly, her voice disapproving. "Ignoring us and not even introducing this dear lady."

The way she said 'lady' made it clear that she already thought of his landlady as anything but. And John was sure, the fact that Mrs Hudson ignored his parents in favour of his sister Harry didn't speak in her favour either, not that he cared what his parents thought.

"I really don't think Mrs Hudson needs to know who you are, mother", he replied coldly. "Besides, you were about to leave anyway, weren't you?"

"John, this is not how you should treat your parents. We are here to discuss your marriage, as you've already guessed. And we certainly didn't travel the whole way, into this kind of area", his father scrunched his nose in displeasure as he looked around the living room, "just so you can throw us out before we've come to an agreement."

Mrs Watson nodded emphatically. John however had finally had enough.

"I've said, 'no'!" he shouted, voice outraged. "Which part of a two-letter word don't you understand, for God's sake? I took my leave of family business long ago, and you know that very well, both of you. I've never wanted anything to do with the Watson heritage, with your jobs and certainly not with marriage. I left, if you remember, and even if you don't I recall very well what I told you, I don't want to hear from you ever again. Therefore - GET. OUT!"

John's furious rant was interrupted by a hesitant knock from the open door. He looked from his startled parents towards the doorway where a cowed Harry stood next to his astonished landlady.

As if in slow motion, both women turned their heads towards the new intruder who stood timidly in the doorway. It was a woman, around John's age. She was well dressed in a beige business suit, with dark brown hair in a simple plait which was fastened at the back of her head. Some jewellery in the form of a small but expensive-looking necklace and earrings completed the picture, neither particularly eye-catching at first sight. Her makeup was done in the same, understated style, her red lips forming a rather hesitant smile.

"Uhm, I'm not sure if this is the best of times, Lady Watson. Maybe I should return some other time?" she addressed his mother before throwing John a shy look. "Hi John, sorry to intrude on you at a time like this. But I'm sure this can wait until a more convenient, occasion right?"

John blinked a few times, looking more closely at the woman inside the door. She was pretty, no doubt about that, and the years had been kind to her but it still took him a moment before he recognised her.

"Cathy? Cathy Stormhill?"

His face must have shown a rather comical look of disbelief because the woman started to laugh in amusement.

"Hello John, I'm glad to see that you still recognise old friends", she said with a friendly smile.

"Well, I admit it's been ages since we last saw each other, but I should still be able to recognise an old friend nonetheless. What're you doing here?"

John noticed the small look Cathy threw his mother before putting two and two together. Of course, the sisters of his cousin's husband had simply been bait to test the waters. Cathy must have realised his epiphany because her smile turned rueful.

"Got it in one, John. I'm sorry, but you know your mother can be quite persistent. I admit I'm not really interested in any form of marriage, and I don't believe for a minute that you are either, but after she approached me I saw my chance to at least see you again after all these years. I do hope you'll forgive me for taking the opportunity? After all, we haven't seen each other since you joined the army."

Shaking his head, John glared at his parents before sending a kinder look at his childhood friend

"Cathy, you could've come by any time. I'd always be happy to see old friends, you must've known that at least."

"Oh no, how could I ever intrude into your life", she replied, waving a hand dismissively. "I mean, I've read your blog and it sounds like you're awfully busy. I never saw a good chance to just come by and catch up on old times. I mean, old childhood adventures, what do they weigh against all the excitement you've had these past few years?"

At that moment she remembered the reason for the Watsons' presence and she put a hand to her mouth, abashed.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry John. Look at me, not even here for a full minute and already I'm talking without thinking. I've heard about what happened to your flatmate, of course, and I'm really sorry, John, believe me."

The doctor swallowed down the scathing comment that had been on the tip of his tongue the moment she reminded him of Sherlock. Of course, his death had not been her fault, he knew that, and it had nothing to do with his annoying parents either. Sighing he breathed in deeply before looking at her as calmly as he could.

"It's okay, Cathy, don't worry", he reassured her before coming to a decision.

"Out, both of you!" he snapped at his parents before turning towards Mrs Hudson and his sister with a kinder face. "Please Harry and Mrs Hudson, you too. Cathy, you can stay. I guess we need to talk but I refuse to do so with those meddling people in the room."

His eyes turned to focus on his parents once more. There was neither kindness nor forgiveness in his gaze. "Out! Now!"

It seemed for once the elder Watsons knew when to retreat because both of them left the room silently, though his mother still sent a small, encouraging smile towards Cathy. Mrs Hudson ensured that both parents left the house before quietly inviting Harry to have a cup of tea in her flat until John had finished his business with his new guest. Harry agreed hesitantly, following the old landlady slowly after a long last look at her younger brother.

Only after the door to 221b had finally closed did John turn his full attention towards his guest, offering her the chair he himself had so often claimed, back when Sherlock and he listened to clients. He couldn't bear to see anyone else sitting in the seat that belonged to Sherlock, not yet anyway, so he took that one for himself.

John smiled at Cathy slightly. He was sure it was more of a grimace than anything else, but at least there was a bit of honesty there. Because no matter what had happened in the last few weeks, he was still truly delighted to see one of his oldest childhood friends again.

Cathy was just as he remembered her, friendly, polite and always smiling. She did so now, though ruefully.

John, I really AM sorry for my thoughtless blunder just now", she began, taking his hand. "I was so happy to have the chance to finally meet you again, that for a second it totally slipped my mind what happened to Mr Holmes. Please do accept my most sincere condolences for your loss."

Sighing John shook his head, waving her concerns away.

"I don't blame you for not remembering someone you didn't even know personally, Cathy", he soothed her, though his smile was slightly bitter. "I learned the hard way two years ago that the world doesn't stop revolving just because something bad has happened to one single person. But thank you, anyway.

"Now, let's get away from such gloomy topics. We both know I'm not at my best at the moment. But what about you? I have to say you're looking great. Considering my parents wanted to set us up, I can hardly believe you aren't married yet, or that there isn't at least somebody in your life."

Cathy laughed, rather amused now, her eyes crinkling.

"John Watson, the old charmer, you certainly haven't lost your edge, have you?" she teased him with a fond smile. "If you must know, I broke up with my last boyfriend some months ago and to be honest I'm still quite fed up with the idea of relationships in general. I rather like my freedom as a single woman."

"Well, why allow my mother to consider you as a potential bride for me then?" he wanted to know. "I mean, the reason for her choice is obvious. Your family is aristocratic with a good reputation and you're certainly well enough off for money. But you know me, Cathy, and you should have guessed from the fact that I've not gone back even once since leaving, that I haven't changed my mind."

"Honestly, that's exactly why I agreed", the woman now returned, seriously. "I didn't tell your mother that I'm not interested in relationships right now. As I've said, I really wanted to see you, and judging by your years of silence and absence, I suspected that your opinions from back then hadn't changed. As for your mother, I've got to admit that I was in serious trouble some months ago and she was able to help me."

Hearing this, John groaned, looking at his old friend in disbelief.

"Seriously? You allowed her to help you? Even though you know how cunning she is? Everything she ever does is for a reason. If she helps you, mother will make sure you remember when the time comes and she needs something from you. In this case, it's obvious she's using you to try and get me married."

Cathy sighed, shaking her head sadly, but not looking overly sorry.

"I knew I'd end up being indebted to her", she told him calmly, "and when she told me about your current situation and that it wasn't good for a middle-aged man like you to be alone for too long, I soon realised what the price for my debt would be. I really can't tell you the details because it's family business, but I couldn't turn down her help back then and I'm still grateful to be out of my difficulties.

"In fact, I do have a good idea that might work out. When I leave, I suspect your mother will contact me to find out how our conversation went. How about I tell her that you asked me to stay in touch so we can catch up over tea now and then? She'll understand that you need some time to get to know me again. It'll buy us more time and we can think of a way to prevent a wedding without your parents thinking I didn't try my very best. What do you think, John?"

The doctor let out a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes tiredly with both hands before threading his left through his hair in frustration.

"I'm not sure what to think, to be honest", he admitted. "If I had my way, my parents would leave me the hell alone, as they've done since I left for Afghanistan. But now they've finally taken some action and shown up at my doorstep, I'm under no illusions, this will definitely turn into a fight. One I'm not really willing or motivated to deal with at the moment."

"Oh John, I'm so sorry", Cathy whispered, sympathetically. "It's obvious to me now, how much you're still hurting from your loss. I've never seen you this broken."

"Well, you haven't seen me for a long time, so that's not saying very much", John replied bitterly, before catching himself. "Sorry, that was uncalled for. You know what? Leave me alone for now and we'll set a date for next week to have a serious talk. For the time being, tell my parents what you suggested, if they ask. Hopefully, I can prepare for next week and will be in a better frame of mind to deal with it all."

"Sounds good to me", Cathy agreed with a small smile.

"Thanks for understanding", John acknowledged, squeezing her hand. "No matter what happens, and however bad my mood, Cathy, I AM really glad that we met up again, you know?"

"Yes, John, I know", she replied and smiled again before standing. She handed him a small business card.

"You'll find my mobile number on this", she explained. "You can send me a text message when you're ready with the time and place."

"Right", John nodded, taking the card and putting it into his pocket. Ever the gentleman, he took his time to show her to the door. They exchanged a friendly goodbye before she finally left. John stared after her for several minutes, mind lost in thought.

It was only when the door to Mrs Hudson's flat opened and Harry nervously called his name, that he returned to the here and now. Sighing silently once more he looked down to where his sister and landlady both stood. It was time to move on to the next issue.

SHxJWxSHxJW

"John! Over here!" Cathy stood on the other side of the street, one arm in the air, carefully waving with a cup of coffee in hand, while her other held a second cup. John waved back and crossed the street, reaching her quickly.

"Sorry for the wait", she said and offered him one of the cups. "I hope you still drink it black without sugar? The traffic was hell, and then the fun of trying to find a parking space!"

She gave a wry grin, making it quite obvious that she expected one of the usual macho comments about women and driving but none came. John simply shrugged, accepted the coffee and gestured with his free hand to the other side of the road.

"Oh, don't worry. I was miles away, watching all the different delights that fountain has to offer. And the coffee's fine, ta by the way."

The smile he was offering her must have looked really forced, because her face fell and she watched him uncertainly.

"Everything all right?"

Sighing he waved towards the other side of the road, where some benches surrounded the fountain.

"Let's sit down."

She nodded and they crossed the street towards the benches, taking a seat on the cleanest one.

"All right, we're sitting", Cathy declared, gazing at John anxiously. "Now, can you tell me what's wrong? You don't look happy."

Groaning in frustration, the doctor pulled a hand through his hair, refusing to look at her, instead turning his eyes to the merry movement of the water in the fountain. They both played with their cups of coffee, occasionally drinking without saying anything. Finally John hunched his shoulders and looked up towards the grey sky. It looked like rain.

"It's been a month since your first visit," John finally sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "And miraculously my parents have left me alone after you told them we needed time to catch up. And don't get me wrong, it has been nice, meeting for coffee and lunch. Still, I hope you can understand why my mood hasn't fully improved since Sherlock's death."

"Your parents have contacted you," Cathy surmised, getting right to the point. John looked up at her, surprised, and she gave him a small humourless smile.

"Me too", she admitted. "I'm sorry I tried to hide it. I should've known better and told you straight away. They're putting pressure on you too, I take it?"

Scoffing, he jumped up from his seat, coffee falling to the ground, spilling the contents, but neither of them seemed to notice.

"Putting pressure on me is not even covering it!" he informed her frustrated. "I TOLD them to leave me alone. Now I'm receiving E-Mails, instant messages and even COMMENTS ON MY DAMN BLOG from them. They're quite intelligent enough not to come near Baker Street again, but everything else they're able to use, they do. It's fucking aggravating."

"What have they told you?"Cathy asked rather tentatively. John was too far gone to stop now and he answered her question without even thinking.

"They told me that, unfortunate as Sherlock's death was, it's important I move on now. That the family's desperate, that the Watson line needs a worthy heir to represent the family in the future and with Harry's unfortunate taste in women and drinking, it's obviously down to me. As if my relationship with Sherlock wouldn't have been a disgrace to the family anyway! They'd sweep my bisexuality under the carpet, that's what they'd do, were I ever to agree to their pleadings. I mean, honestly, what do they take me for?"

"Oh dear! Poor John", Cathy exclaimed, catching hold of his hand to stop his agitated pacing. "I can understand why you're upset, believe me."

"I'm thinking of changing my number and seeing if I can ban them from the blog. Maybe I'll tell people I'm taking a holiday, leaving the blog alone for a while until my parents get the message."

"That might buy you some time," Cathy agreed, but she shook her head. "I'm not sure it will be very long, though. Not if I know your mother, the way she talks to me."

John stopped musing on his problems, realising that his friend seemed to have similar ones to his own, and turned around.

"Sorry for being so self-absorbed", he apologised, giving her his full attention. "So, what's my horrible mother been telling you?"

"Essentially the same thing", Cathy admitted. "That it seems you've warmed up to me after this month of contact. That my name and family will go well with the Watsons' and that I ought to start putting more pressure on you, to use my charms."

Grimacing, the doctor squeezed her hand, full of sympathy.

"Don't let her get to you", he advised, which caused her to smile honestly at him.

"I won't, don't worry. It's just not that easy with the debt I still owe her. But this month has given me time to think about our situation and last week I had a chance encounter that may provide a solution."

"Oh?" John acknowledged curiously. "What happened?"

"This might sound a bit crazy, but hear me out first, please?"

He nodded his head, gesturing for her to continue.

"Do you remember Stephanie Stringfield?" Cathy asked. John scrunched his eyebrows together in thought for a moment, before his face lit up.

"Steph? The one with the red hair, who had such a great interest in languages?"

"Yep, that's the one", she confirmed. "I met her last week by chance and of course we chatted about what's been happening in our life lately. Somehow we got on to the topic of men and marriage and she admitted that she's getting divorced. Well, I have to say, for someone in the middle of a divorce, she looked rather happy. I know from experience at work that it's always stressful, even if both sides agree.

"But Stephanie, well, she wasn't like any other soon-to-be-divorced person I've ever seen before, so I asked her how she was bearing up so well. And she told me - I could hardly believe it at the time, John - that the reason was simple. Her marriage had been a farce. She went abroad after she finished university and made lots of friends. One guy in particular really wanted to visit Britain so he decided to come with her when she returned home.

"They'd been good friends all along but there was never more, she assured me. Unfortunately, after his right of residence in Britain expired, his application for a prolonged stay was denied so Stephanie decided to help by marrying him."

At this point John couldn't stay silent any longer.

"You mean to tell me, she married that man to help him stay in Britain?" he asked Cathy in disbelief. "That's crazy, don't you think?"

"A bit unusual, but yes, that's exactly what she did", Cathy confirmed in a soothing voice before adding quickly, "And that's why I asked you not to interrupt me, John. I knew you wouldn't altogether approve of what she did but Stephanie assured me that at the time neither of them were in a relationship and they both agreed to stop the whole charade the second one of them fell in love and wanted to move in with that partner.

"It's taken some time to get to that point but now her 'husband' has found someone he seriously wants to marry and they've decided it's time to officially break up and divorce. You see, John, everything ended rather well, don't you think?"

"I'd say they were lucky that no one found out and reported them", he corrected before his eyes widened in realisation. "Wait a moment. That's your point! You want us to do the same? Marry as friends to get my parents out of our hair? Cathy, that's ridiculous!"

His childhood friend looked down at her feet, guilty and disappointed at the same time.

"But it would be a way out", she finally told him, looking up with determination. "I mean, it's been what, a month since we decided to try and come up with a solution in the face of your parents' insistence? And just moments ago you were complaining that they're crowding you. John this would mean an end to both our worries."

"Cathy, I've never considered marrying for any reason other than love and I certainly don't want to start now. Personally I think Steph took a huge risk with what she did. Admittedly, she also proved herself to be a great friend by going that far, I won't deny that."

Cathy bit her lip before a stubborn look crossed her face. She didn't dare to look at the doctor as she tentatively voiced her next question.

"What if Mr Holmes was still alive, John? Would you have married at all?"

Deathly silence fell. Only the noise from the cars, the people on the streets and the fountain could be heard though neither of them seemed to notice this at all. John glared at the ground while Cathy went back to biting her lip, obviously anxious and already regretting what she had said.

Suddenly, John looked up, his dark look gone, replaced by resignation. Bowing his head in her direction, he admitted defeat.

"Okay, that was a low blow, but you're right, Cathy. I can't imagine ever leaving Sherlock, if he was still alive. But Sherlock wasn't the type for marriage, hell, the only reason he would've ever considered it would've been as cover for a case."

John smiled wistfully at the idea before trying to get back to the topic at hand.

"And God help me, I would've agreed, and gone through with it, so I guess in the end I really am no better than Steph. But Sherlock is gone and, while I still can't see myself getting married any time soon, if ever, this is a different situation. It's not only about me, but you as well, Cathy. I mean, look at you! Beautiful, successful, still young. How do you know that you won't find Mr Perfect next week and then what? Still marry me as a good turn, and then when it all comes out, let your family and friends think you were betraying me even as we stood in front of the altar?"

"But John, I told you..." Cathy started to protest but she was interrupted when he raised his hands.

"No. I know you've told me you're happy being single, but you can't see into the future. I'm not doing something this crazy. I'm sure you mean well, and you want to help, but no Cathy. Just - no."

Sighing she looked at John closely, assessing how serious he was before nodding her head in defeat.

"Okay, I guess you're right", she agreed, voice subdued, but friendly enough. "Maybe the whole idea is crazy but we really need to come up with a different plan soon, or your parents will become unbearable."

Growling, John clenched his fists, eyes burningin anger as he thought back to the last entry his parents had left on his blog just this morning.

"Don't worry, I think it's time I stop the niceties and tell my parents in terms even they can understand that they are not wanted", he said tightly. "I've have quite enough of their persistence."

"If you're sure", Cathy said, obviously not convinced but willing to respect John's wishes for now.

"Quite", he replied confidently, head held proudly. "You'll see, not even a week from now, the next time we meet, you'll be free of any phone calls or however else they've been pestering you."

Cathy's only reply was a hopeful smile.

SHxJWxSHxJW

One month later, John surprised Cathy by calling her late in the evening.

"John", she greeted him, a bit worried about the unusual time of day.

"They've started sending postcards", he whispered brokenly. "Not even addressed to me but to Mrs Hudson and..." he stopped, his voice failing and he had to swallow twice before he was able to add, "and addressed to Sherlock too."

"Oh my God, John!" Cathy breathed, shocked. "Are you all right?"

There was a long pause where only John's breathing could be heard.

"I'm tired, Cathy", he finally uttered. "So very, very tired."

"What can I do to help?" she immediately offered, willing to do anything. Sighing, John gripped his mobile phone tighter, staring at nothing as he muttered.

"Tell me about your plan for this wedding."

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Title: **And Blood Doesn't Count  
**Part: 4/?  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Happy End  
Pairings: Sherlock/John

Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

Chapter's Summary: John's death leaves a deep hole inside his mind which he refuses to acknowledge. Self-isolated in Germany, Sherlock Holmes tries to get on with life. But he's not so far gone that he doesn't notice the strange occurrences around him. If mysteries are what is left for him, it's mysteries he'll solve.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

And not to forget, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors! I continue to be in awe of the work you do!

* * *

Sherlock Holmes swore so loudly and colourfully that the mother just crossing the street with her four year old child gave him the evil eye, even though not one of his curse words had been in her native language.

"Also ich muss doch sehr bitten! Und das vor einem Kind!" she scolded, before dragging the protesting boy away. "Komm schnell weiter, Dennis!"[1]

Sherlock didn't bother to look at her, nor did he care about her unkind words. She was just a pedestrian, 42-year-old single mother of two children - the first old enough to stay home alone but too young to look after his brother without surveillance - and currently out of work. Not to mention her younger son was showing the first symptoms of chickenpox, something the mother hadn't noticed yet.

All this Sherlock concluded from one glance out of the corner of his eye: nothing to do with The Work, therefore irrelevant. But his suspect on the other hand, the one he was certain was the right-hand man of the mastermind behind his current case; he had just got away by a hair's breadth after an unfortunate encounter with a cyclist gave away Sherlock's pursuit of the man.

Of course, it wasn't the end of the world. Sherlock already knew where the suspect was heading to, however his ultimate objective eluded Sherlock and the fact that now he had no way of intercepting the man, that was what left Sherlock cursing. Pacing up and down the pavement with nervous energy, the consulting detective took measure of his situation, weighing the pros and cons of continuing the case or dismissing it.

The case itself was interesting enough. Not a ten but at least a seven-and-a-half. Sherlock had already been forced to use his brain to nearly full capacity twice. He also knew where he'd have to go if he wanted further clues. He needed to catch the suspect, Manuel Franke, but he was now heading to the one place Sherlock had sworn to never set foot in again - London.

Pressing his lips together, the consulting detective tried to stop his brain from pursuing that line of thought, but it was already too late. Without his consent, his mind wandered back to that day nearly six months ago when he had come to Hamburg for a simple case, expecting to return to John within days. As if his life would ever be that easy.

SHxJWxSHxJW

Sherlock's first few days in Germany had been normal enough. Thanks to his brother, he was given a hotel room on the banks of the Alster, the largest tributary of the Elbe and the main river running through the city. Not that he really needed the rooms or anything else his brother had to offer. He spent most of his time out searching for clues and visiting his mind palace to sort through the information he had gathered. Once or twice he called on his contact from British intelligence who was staying at the Consulate. The man's duty was to forward him any news he received from New Scotland Yard which in the end turned out, as always, to be nothing.

The only useful information had come from John when Sherlock had texted him about a drivers license found at a new crime scene, as well as asking for confirmation about the identity of a suspect. John got back to him with the results in record time, quite surprising, since Sherlock was used to Lestrade's men taking ages to do anything. But he wasn't complaining, the sooner he was able to finish, the better. He had already started to become dangerously bored twice during the case. It was a good thing he was able to use his mobile to exchange messages with John the moment he stepped onto the plane to Germany.

When Sherlock had received confirmation of the driver's license and the identity of his suspect, he spent several hours chasing after clues, leaving him with no time to spare for John. Not that he worried. His flatmate and lover knew him well enough to be aware that no answer from Sherlock meant he was on a chase, either within his mind palace or out on the streets.

In the past Sherlock would have certainly forgotten everything around him in the heat of a case, but now he had stayed conscious enough of John to check his mobile phone every time a message arrived. However, the doctor had nothing more important to report. He simply wished Sherlock luck, recounting some of the mundane events at home and a funny incident that happened at the practice. Well, funny in John's opinion anyway. Sherlock often wondered why he not only tolerated such unimportant messages, but more than once he found himself looking forward to them.

Which was why, around twenty four hours later, in the early hours of the morning, and after the suspect had been caught and was being questioned by the police, Sherlock found himself checking his phone for the hundred time for any new messages while he sat restlessly in the office of his intelligence contact.

John had not texted anything after the practice had closed and that was rather unusual. For the first three days the former army doctor had always confirmed his arrival at Baker Street, no matter the hour. But not so on the fourth evening and there were no further messages as Sherlock ran through alleys and tube stations, chasing after his suspect.

Grumbling in anger, the consulting detective had returned his mobile phone into his coat pocket, each time more forcefully than the last, as the much-anticipated message failed to arrive. He had no obvious clues to go on, yet his gut told him something was wrong and he hated that feeling. John was the one who had feelings, Sherlock believed in logic and clues. If there was no evidence, he refused to draw conclusions. Just as he had done on the day he left for Germany, when John had told him of the bad feeling he had.

However, at that moment Sherlock had found himself very much in John's position, that nagging suspicion that something was wrong just not going away. He was about to get his mobile out again to dial the familiar number - and no, he didn't care if he dragged John out of bed in the middle of the night - when Brad Hastings, his contact, entered the office with the results of the questioning.

What Hastings had told him was so surprising, that he had forgotten his silent mobile for the next few hours, instead discussing theories and ideas for their next plan of action. They were still in the middle of the discussion when his mobile announced an incoming call. Sherlock dismissed it immediately. It wasn't John's ringtone and what was worse, he recognised it as Mycroft's though why his brother was even trying was beyond his imagination. His elder brother knew better than to expect an actual answer to his call. He'd never done so in the past and he wouldn't start now.

Mycroft had seemed to be quite insistent however, because no sooner had his mailbox taken over, than Mycroft had hung up and immediately tried again. This happened five times, until even Hastings was no longer able to ignore the ringing that Sherlock clearly didn't plan to answer.

"Holmes, for God's sake, if your caller is that insistent, couldn't you at least answer your phone and tell them to get back to you later?"

Sherlock let out a disdainful snort.

"You don't know my brother, Hastings. He doesn't take 'no' for an answer, if he doesn't want to. Sadly enough he never seems to want what I want. A shame, really. Anyway, I'm not wasting my time answering his call. Just ignore it, he'll give up soon enough."

However, Mycroft hadn't given up. After the sixth try, his phone had stayed blissfully silent but moments later, Hastings' secretary burst into the room, agitation written all over her face, a phone in her hand. One look from her and Sherlock knew exactly what was going on.

"Oh for God's sake, tell Mycroft I'm not talking to him and that's final!" he groaned, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. "I'm in the middle of a case, so I would very much appreciate being left alone, at least until I'm back at Baker Street."

"But Mr Holmes", the secretary exclaimed anxiously. "Mr Holmes INSISTS that you take his call. He says it's about 'John Watson' and it's important."

Sherlock had the phone against his ear before she had barely finished John's name.

"Mycroft, I thought you knew better than to contact me during a case", the consulting detective growled into the speaker, voice tight.

"Well, dear brother, you tend to ignore my calls even if you don't have a case, therefore it doesn't really matter, does it?" Mycroft replied dryly. Sherlock couldn't help but notice the absence of the usual undertone. The one that made his skin crawl every time they spoke, because his older brother sounded as if he was being condescendingly patient when dealing with him. Obviously, Sherlock had concluded there could only be one sensible reason for this.

"Mycroft, something's wrong. John hasn't sent any text messages for twenty-four hours. What's going on? Please don't tell me he's missing when you know I'm counting on you to keep an eye on him while I'm in Germany."

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say 'missing'", the elder Holmes had replied carefully but Sherlock was in no mood for mind games.

"For God's sake, just spit it out, Mycroft!" he ordered impatiently. There was a sigh on the other end of the line.

"You should sit down, Brother Dear."

"No thank you, Mycroft, I'm standing just fine where I am."

"Fine, don't complain later that I didn't warn you. Sherlock, there is no easy way to tell you this but... John is dead."

Sherlock had the phone pressed tightly against his ear by that point, but even so it suddenly seemed as if his brother's voice was coming from very, very far away. He had blinked a few times absently and, by the time his brain was working well enough again to register his surroundings, he realised that he had mysteriously sat down in one of the guest chairs.

"Are you listening to me, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked and the consulting detective thought he could detect the barest hint of concern in his elder brother's voice.

"What... did you just say?" was all he had been able to choke out and it hadn't even sounded like his voice. Which was strange. He sounded hoarse and weak all of the sudden, yet he was sure he wasn't coming down with anything. And he was hearing things, because there could be no way his brother had just declared that John... As always, as if reading his mind, Mycroft repeated himself, a bit louder than before.

"No, Sherlock, you didn't mishear. John Watson is dead. Moreover, it wasn't foul play. I wish I could say somebody had been after his life because believe me, if that were the case he would still be alive and well at Baker Street but it was just an accident."

Mycroft had paused, a perfect chance for Sherlock to make his usual stinging retort, but the consulting detective found himself missing his usual wit. It was therefore easy for Mycroft to continue in an unusually comforting voice.

"He saved a child, Sherlock. We have the footage on CCTV. He was on his way home when he witnessed a small boy running after his toy into the road. The driver would have been unable to see the child in time, that much Dr. Watson knew, and he reacted immediately. He pushed the child away, Sherlock, but he was unable to escape himself."

Sherlock's brain had begun to run in overdrive then. He considered the length of time since the last text message had been sent, when John usually left his practice and how long it would have been light enough for a small child to be allowed to play outside. The conclusion he came to did not improve his mood.

"Mycroft, John hasn't texted me since yesterday evening. I conclude his accident happened around twenty four hours ago so why are you only trying to contact me now?"

Well, his voice certainly sounded better. Strong and tense, just as it usually was when talking to his brother.

"You're right, the accident happened yesterday evening", Mycroft admitted calmly. "John fought for his life for several hours. He finally lost the battle not two hours ago, Sherlock. I've been with him in the clinic the whole time, together with Detective Inspector Lestrade. For the last hour I've been liaising with the team I appointed to establish the authenticity of the accident.

"Since there was nothing you could have done, either two hours ago or now, little brother, I thought you would appreciate knowing whether you have reason to go on a personal revenge spree or simply curse fate for being so cruel."

"You know as well as I do, that fate has nothing to do with this, Mycroft", was the only reply Sherlock had been able utter, voice toneless. He was about to end the call, when he was interrupted.

"Wait Sherlock, one more thing! I've talked with John's sister Harry, since she is the only relative he has left. There will be a decision about the the funeral within the next few hours, I'd say. I'll text you the date so do not ignore my incoming text in the near future, if you please."

Sherlock gave a short grunt before ending the call forcefully. Silence had descended within the room. The secretary nervously, but without a word, retrieved the phone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hastings sending her a silent signal to retreat which she did immediately. Sherlock couldn't bear to look at his contact, not after what had just happened. Listlessly, he stared out of the window.

Hastings had swallowed hard. Sherlock could feel the weight of his gaze, but he ignored it. His mind was racing. So much went through his head, but for once he was unable to grasp a single strand of thought. It was like trying to hold onto water, his thoughts were simply trickling away.

A loud cough had finally brought him back to reality, forcing him to face the other man in the room for the first time since the call.

"Holmes", Hasting was obviously nervous, as he stumbled over his first words. "I am... sorry about your loss. Dr. Watson was fairly close to you, was he not?"

"Obviously!" Sherlock snapped his gaze cold. He started to pace, the nervous energy he usually felt when his mind was on overdrive or he felt a particularly strong urge to smoke, preventing him from keeping still.

"Will you... do you need a break from the case?" the intelligent officer questioned carefully. "I mean, everyone takes the loss of a close acquaintance differently. Some people need to talk about it, some need to work, others need time alone. Hell, one of my previous colleagues has been unable to visit the town in which his sister lived since her untimely death."

He had stopped and looked over at Sherlock thoughtfully.

"In fact, if you ever need a bit of space after your... friend's funeral, you'll always be welcome here in Germany, Holmes."

Sherlock stopped his nervous pacing, looking over at Hastings with wide, curious eyes.

"Did your colleague ever return to the place where his sister had lived?" he pressed, just to ensure they both were on the same page.

"After the funeral, never again", Hastings confirmed hesitantly. "We're still in contact, Sven and I, even if he now works in Rostock. Last time we talked, he was still unable to step foot in Berlin. Hell, he even rejected the offer of a well paid and respectable job last year, just because he would have been forced to work in German's capital city. So you see, Holmes, people mourn differently."

He paused for a moment, before adding in an unsure voice,

"I'll take you off the case immediately."

Sherlock squared his shoulders and strode forward, finally taking a seat in front of his contact's table.

"Nonsense", he declared forcefully, his face impassive and devoid of even the smallest emotion. "Let me hear what your people have got out of the suspect. Then we can plan our next step."

"But..." Hastings stuttered, turning red before holding out a small stack of papers for the consulting detective to look at. "I've received the police report from the interview and it seems the next step will be a small journey down to Leipzig. It may well take a couple of days to conclude everything that needs to be taken care of. If I understand correctly, that might be about the time you should be at your friend's funeral?"

If Hastings had expected a reaction out of Sherlock, some sign of sentiment, he was disappointed. The consulting detective gave nothing away, simply watching the other man with emotionless eyes.

"I'm not returning to Britain. Not for the near future at any rate", while in his head Sherlock had added _'preferably not ever'_.

"But, what about your friend?" Hastings nearly shouted, caught totally by surprise. "I always assumed Dr. Watson was important to you, shouldn't you say goodbye properly?"

Sherlock made a dismissive gesture.

"And what good would mourning do for John?" he challenged, glaring at Hastings. "Funerals - tedious events where one is forced to converse with tedious people about tedious topics. It won't bring him back to life, and John knew me well enough to know how I loathe such gatherings. I watched my own funeral three years ago, you know, and it was a horrible affair. I really could have done without one, and not just because I was, in truth, still alive. Now let's get back to the case at hand so I can finish it. The facts have become so obvious by now it's starting to bore me. I'll send my brother a text later to inform him of my prolonged stay."

Hastings had sputtered a bit before finding his composure. From that moment on it was back to the case at hand and John's fate was never mentioned again. When Sherlock left, the secretary looked as if she wanted to say something, most likely some sort of commiseration, but one look in her direction dissuaded her. She had been deeply intimidated by him since he carelessly deduced, on his first visit, that her engagement had been called off, a fact which she had not revealed to anyone at work.

Sherlock had decided that it would be best for everyone if he simply concentrated on cases from now on.

SHxJWxSHxJW

That had been nearly six months ago. Sherlock had kept to his decision. After solving the case he had originally come for, he sent a text to Mycroft, informing him that he would be staying in Germany for some time longer. Then he threw himself head first into the next case Hastings had to offer.

In the following months, the consulting detective had not allowed himself a minute's rest, always running around, keeping his mind busy as much as he could. He slowly relapsed into some of the bad habits John had taken exceedingly good care to break him out of. Smoking was one of them, though it was just as tedious as in London to find places where he was allowed to indulge his cravings. Just two days ago, a commuter at a train station had given him a filthy look because he was smoking in a part of the station where it was forbidden. Well, she should have been thankful it was only a smoke and he wasn't back on the serious drugs yet.

Of course, even if he didn't acknowledge it directly, Sherlock was aware that everything he did was to prevent himself from thinking about John. He had always been proud of his objectiveness regarding cases and victims. John had certainly been surprised, even shocked about his callousness, but as he had once replied during a heated argument, feelings would not help him solve cases.

Yet ever since the night at the pool when he had confronted Jim Moriarty for the first time, Sherlock had realised that objectiveness was not something he could apply to John. Later it turned out that his landlady and even Detective Inspector Lestrade had a similar effect on him, quickly followed by Molly Hooper. But John Watson had always been a special case, the one person Sherlock was unable to fully regard without feeling anything.

At first, it was just respect and curiosity for the man, who hadn't told him to 'fuck off' after his deductions, but instead praised him openly and followed him through the streets of London without question. Well, admittedly the questions usually followed once the excitement was over, but that wasn't the point. That interest in John Watson slowly changed into a deeper feeling of connection, the more frequently John left whatever he was doing to join him on a case. And then there was that fateful day during the Baskerville case when Sherlock had been forced to realise that he now regarded his flatmate as a friend and that this time he was unwilling to let that friendship go.

As a result, Sherlock had fought to defend that friendship, even going as far as to fake his own death, thus provoking John's fury in the aftermath. That had hurt a surprising amount, and not just physically! However, he would have preferred both forms of pain a thousand times over rather than the alternative, John's death. And then the final change from friends to lovers had happened. That one had caught even Sherlock by surprise. Of course he had noticed the signs on John, how could he not, considering his observational skills? And John himself had soon realised that he was as transparent as always to the consulting detective. Which had been the reason Sherlock was finally forced to sit down and discuss their situation.

However, it had been John Watson, through clever coaxing and questioning, who had made Sherlock realise he returned the sentiment. It was something Sherlock had been oh so sure he would always rise above. It turned out to be one of the few moments in his life that he was wrong about something. Added to the fact that he was new to feelings in general and love in particular, Sherlock had been unable to recognise it for what it was. This was one of the areas where John was the expert and he the student, something he usually loathed, but Sherlock realised he didn't really mind too much with John. In fact, he was looking forward to being taught all that the doctor knew about love and relationships.

Of course from that moment on, Sherlock had been aware deep down that the loss of his flatmate, his friend, his lover could never be taken lightly but he had not allowed himself to dwell on the possibility, nor had he ever thought it likely to happen. While John certainly craved danger, he was far from being as reckless as Sherlock himself, if he could help it. Which meant, chances were that he, Sherlock Holmes, would be the one to die before John Watson.

It turned out that he had overlooked something as banal as an accident.

SHxJWxSHxJW

Gritting his teeth in frustration when he realised he was once more delving into forbidden territory, Sherlock tried to return his thoughts to the actual case. He really, REALLY refused to think about John at the present time. As long as he was in Germany, he could pretend he was out on a case and would be returning to his doctor soon. Pathetic, he acknowledged, but better than losing focus and wallowing in misery.

Currently though, he really needed to focus on something else altogether. Recently, Sherlock had come to realise that there was something suspicious about his stay in Germany. At first, he hadn't cared about anything. He'd been offered a place to live, and Hastings' assurance that the need for space was a 'normal' reaction to bereavement had prevented him from having second thoughts about his decision.

Mycroft had acknowledged his text concerning Sherlock's prolonged stay in Germany and some days later, had even sent him a photo of John's freshly decorated grave along with the name of the cemetery where he had been laid to rest. Afterwards, there was blessed silence, from everyone. Not even Lestrade had dared to tempt fate by sending inane text messages. The only one he had been surprised not to hear from was Mary Morstan, John's colleague and friend.

Mary, with her feisty character, had not been intimidated by Sherlock's deductions about her life - just like John all those years before - and had quickly been added to his small circle of friends. She had been an invaluable help on those few occasions when he and John had had a fight about something he didn't really understand. Mary was patient with him, and if he ever expected anyone to dare to approach him after John's loss, it would have been her.

However, Sherlock concluded that Mary Morstan was still a woman, hardened war veteran notwithstanding. Maybe she also needed time to get over the death of her friend. No matter the reason, Sherlock didn't feel like approaching her unsolicited. He simply continued on with life and Hastings was generous and helpful enough to provide him with mostly-interesting cases.

However, the longer he stayed in contact with Hastings, the more he wondered why the man hadn't tried to pass him on to somebody else. It turned out quickly enough that the intelligent officer would never become what Lestrade had been to him. Sherlock's arrogance, his impatience and general lack of manners clearly grated on the man's nerves. That had happened with officers at New Scotland Yard in the past but they had had no qualms passing him from one to another until one fateful day he had ended up in one Detective Inspector Lestrade's care.

But Hastings, with all his differences from the Detective Inspector, and despite his obvious annoyance with Sherlock, hadn't recommended him to another police station, preferably in a town far away from Hamburg. Instead, he faked friendship (obviously a waste of effort, though Sherlock didn't tell him that), provided him with cases and insisted that he keep the intelligent officer up to date with his investigation. Sherlock mostly complied out of boredom.

Then there was the surveillance. Admittedly it had taken Sherlock some months to notice that he was being followed. At first, he refused to believe the men were that good, just that he had been too preoccupied with other things. When he finally noticed some agents were following his every move all over Germany, he suspected Mycroft, of course. However, he soon dismissed that idea because Sherlock knew the game he played with his brother like the back of his own hand. After the first few times, many years before, that Sherlock had noticed even the best MI6 agent trailing him, they had no longer tried to conceal themselves.

If Sherlock had been in the mood to allow them to trail him, he did so. If not, he had always been able to shake them off, no matter if they tried to conceal their presence or not. Besides, he was aware that Mycroft had many more means of tracking Sherlock's movements than just sending agents after him, and they both knew it.

Therefore, the agents currently trailing him here in Germany, while obviously not part of some criminal organisation, were not from his brother either. Which left the question, who else, with power equal to Mycroft's, had such an intense interest in him? This was a mystery Sherlock planned to solve as soon as his latest case was finished.

SHxJWxSHxJW

Groaning at the inconvenience of it all, Sherlock finally stopped his agonised pacing of the pavement in the middle of Bremen. He needed to decide on his next move. No matter how much he disliked the thought of returning to London in pursuit of Franke, the idea of leaving a case unsolved when it was possible to finish it sat even more heavily with him. After all, The Work was all he had left now.

Sherlock needed to go after his suspect but for once, he wanted to do it on his own, without his observers following. This would be the perfect moment to test the little plan he had formulated to get rid of them. He had been watching the men discretely for a long time. They didn't really know him, at least, not as well as Mycroft's agents did. Consequently, he was sure that they hadn't yet realised their presence had been discovered.

It should be easy enough. Lately, Sherlock had made a habit of not leaving his lodgings for days, even during cases, pretending to order his information and work out his next plan of action. In reality, these cases had already solved, but it got his observers used to the idea that he might not leave the house for a long time.

At the beginning, they had checked regularly when Sherlock started to stay inside for long periods. However, lately he noticed that they seemed to be used to this state of affairs. They still kept a close watch, of course, but they didn't dare to get too close unless they deemed it absolutely necessary.

Even better was the fact that he had only just arrived in Bremen. He had gathered information about the town before, of course, especially the hotels and guest houses. He had already identified one hotel from which it would be perfectly easy to slip out unnoticed. The key was that the agents couldn't possibly have had time to check all the possible escape routes yet. Oh, of course they would do so the moment they realised where he planned to stay, but such observations needed time. They couldn't follow him immediately into the building, it would be too risky. They had to wait for a bit, until he settled down, then they would act.

It was just too bad for his pursuers that Sherlock was always ready and prepared to leave within minutes, if necessary. By the time they realised that he had slipped their watch, days could have gone by, if he was lucky. Hell, he might even get back to Bremen without them noticing anything at all, who knew. So far the longest they had left him alone had been five days.

Of course, just to be sure, Sherlock wouldn't go directly by plane, but would use the train instead. He calculated that Manuel Franke, who was aware Sherlock was following him, would first attempt to lose his pursuer. From what he had gathered of the man's character, that would mean at least two days until Franke arrived in Britain. For Sherlock, that was all time in the world to hide his own trail from his potential followers.

He wouldn't take the most obvious route through Brussels. Instead he would first travel to the Netherlands, then over to Brussels, where he would take not the Eurostar but a different connection to Calais. He would then join the train for the trip through the Channel tunnel and straight to London St. Pancras. Sherlock even considered going by ferry but decided it would be counterproductive as it would not only slow down his chase after the suspect, but might even give his own pursuers the opportunity to intercept him if they discovered his escape too soon. No, taking detours would be caution enough, especially if he used some of those false identities he had created as backup whilst he was destroying Moriarty's network. Thankfully he hadn't needed to use them, which had kept them secret, even from Mycroft. Maybe, if he was especially lucky, he wouldn't even have to deal with his brother when he crossed into Britain using his false identity although he doubted that he'd have that much luck.

By the time Sherlock was done devising his route and deciding which disguises to use, he had arrived at the guest house with his pursuers hot on his trail. He immediately began to put his plan into action. If everything worked out as anticipated, he would be back in London in less than twenty four hours. He supposed for once he might even take Mycroft by surprise.

At that moment, however, Sherlock Holmes had no idea just how much of a surprise his appearance in Britain would really be.

TBC...

* * *

**Translations:**  
[1] Also ich muss doch sehr bitten! - Really!

Und das vor einem Kind! - And this in front of a child!  
Komm schnell weiter, Dennis! - Quickly, Dennis, let's go!

**Author's note:**  
A little comment about the scene with Sherlock smoking on the platform in the German train station. It is indeed generally forbidden to smoke within stations. On each platform there is ONE area, mostly outside the hall, where smokers can indulge their cravings. I'm not ashamed to admit that the person giving Sherlock the dirty glare could have been me, because, as a non-smoker, I suffer every time, getting sick from the smoke. And sadly there are a lot of people who tend not to abide by the rules at train stations.


	5. Chapter 5

This chapter turns out a bit shorter, I'm sorry for that, but I could not resist the perfect cliffhanger that happens to be there.

* * *

Part: 5/11  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Happy End  
Pairings: Sherlock/John  
Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

**Summary:** John plans to get married while Sherlock returns to Britain.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

And not to forget, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors! She even had to suffer through extra hours because I rushed this chapter too much. I am so grateful for your patience, dear!

* * *

"Getting married?"

Greg was looking at John wide-eyed and open-mouthed, shock written all over his face. Mary wasn't much better. She blinked rapidly, as if making sure it really was John Watson sitting in front of her and not an imposter.

John couldn't blame them. After all, he didn't exactly look like someone getting married. In fact, he was sure he looked more like someone preparing for his own funeral.

"John please tell me I'm hearing things", Mary finally found her voice, shaking her head in denial. "I mean, marriage? You? That can't be right. Forgive me for being so blunt, but if you're claiming to be over Sherlock's death, I'll call you a damn liar."

"You're right, of course, Mary", John admitted, burying his head in his hands, "but as a friend, I really hope I can trust you to keep quiet about that."

Greg raised his eyebrows, disbelief fading into curiosity.

"Okay John, what the hell is going on?" the Detective Inspector demanded to know.

"It's a farce", the doctor admitted, his face still hidden. "Cathy's a childhood friend of mine, we don't love each other and I for one can't see that changing any time soon."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Greg bellowed, slamming one hand on the table as anger started to take over. "John, do you have any idea what you're doing? Thankfully, as you're both British, it wouldn't be a crime, but still, why would you want to marry the poor girl if you don't love her? Does she even know?"

"Of course she does, what do you take me for?" John snorted eying his friend slightly perturbed. "It was her idea in the first place."

Now Greg was gaping at him, speechless.

"John?" Mary didn't appear to be as shocked as his other friend, but that one word, his name and the tone of her voice, conveyed as many questions as Greg's outburst. John sank back into his seat, head against the backrest, gazing at the ceiling before closing his eyes.

"I seriously debated about inviting my friends at all. My parents obviously haven't, as the invitations were sent out nearly two months ago and you're none the wiser. I'm sure they think you people are beneath me", he snorted. "That's exactly why I decided to invite you in the end; you are my closest friends. I'll tell Mrs Hudson, Molly and Mike today as well, don't worry."

"But John", Greg couldn't hide the distress in his voice. "Why? Why the hell would you do this?"

There was a small pause, both of his friends obviously expecting an explanation, before Greg suddenly blinked, looking as if he had been doused with a bucked of cold water.

"Just a second. Your PARENTS? Your parents are still alive?"

Sitting up straight, John opened his eyes and looked at his shocked friends with a small, bitter smile on his face.

"Unfortunately, yes, they are."

"There's no love lost, huh?" Mary commented dryly, glancing over at Greg with a raised eyebrow. The Detective Inspector seemed even more surprised than she did.

"And I thought you and Harry had it bad, from what you told me", he pondered. "But if you're not even on speaking terms with your parents, your relationship with your sister looks peachy by comparison."

John couldn't help the snort of amusement that escaped him before rubbing a hand over his eyes tiredly.

"Harry and I've always been on bad terms. Till recently, I resented her for her brashness and drinking but... ", he sighed, face thoughtful, "lately I've started to suspect that it's partly my fault after all."

"Now I'm even more confused", Greg mumbled, scratching his head, looking worriedly at John. "There seems to be a lot of family history getting unburied all of a sudden."

"John, can you start at the beginning for us?" Mary asked soothingly. The doctor nodded, emitting another sigh before regarding them seriously.

"This might come as a surprise, but unfortunately for my sister and me, our family is part of the nobility with a long history and a great deal of self-importance! My parents are both very proud of the family name and their only interest is in keeping it that way for future generations."

"Holy fuck!" was Greg's response to this unexpected revelation. Mary smirked at the blush that immediately stained the detective's cheeks. John just chuckled before becoming serious once more.

"Being aristocratic is no fun if you're born into my family, believe me. My sister Harry, as the first born, was raised very strictly. Me too, of course, because I'm the only son and my family is very traditional that way, but my sister bore the brunt of it. You've both met her. Even without the booze she was always hot-headed and she absolutely hated the restrictions they put on her with every step she tried to take.

"I've told you before that my sister was responsible for driving out her wife, Clara. Which was a huge scandal in our family in the first place, as you can imagine. She started drinking while she was still married and I always thought she destroyed everything herself. After all, she escaped their clutches when she fell in love with Clara. She was away from home, she had a good job and a nice wife."

Shaking his head, he stared out of the window for a moment, lost in memories of his childhood and later, when he had met his sister on leave from Afghanistan.

"I'm really starting to think I was wrong. When we were children, she never had any freedom always expected to act like a 'lady', always been observed. Looking back, I think I finally understand why she's always been so envious of me. I've noticed lately, that despite all the fear she now feels for our parents, she still occasionally looks at mother with such longing and sadness. I think all she ever wanted was for our parents to love and accept her as they did me, at least when I was really small."

"So, you're saying she _didn't_ envy you because you've always been your parents favourite?" Mary joked weakly and John answered with a shake of his head and a hard look.

"No, it wasn't really like that at all. Until we went to school, we were both restricted to the family grounds, never able to see or play with other children unless they were chosen for us by our parents. But I was always a curious child, wanting to see more of the world so going to school, getting out of that boring estate, was like a dream come true for me. I can honestly say, the things I learned at school made more sense than most of the nonsense at home.

"But the most fascinating thing was meeting new people, children outside of our family, who didn't have rich and arrogant parents. Of course you can imagine Harry and I went to an exclusive private school. It was just too bad for my parents that even the most traditional private schools still had to abide by government regulations, so they couldn't teach us as our parents would have preferred. Some of the families who sent their children there were much more open-minded and down-to-earth, and I made a lot of nice friends.

"But more often than not, my parents didn't approve of the people I wanted to spend time with. In fact Cathy is the only one I remember them ever liking. As for all my other friends, they were never allowed to visit, and I always had to go straight home after school. Harry was the same. I watched her rebel against those restrictions time and time again but I guess I was too small to realise what was happening. My parents must have punished her.

"Of course, I was punished too, when I started to rebel too, but at the beginning my parents weren't as strict with me, because I was male and still young in their eyes. When I was old enough to grasp that a private school couldn't give me what I wanted, I found out about my rights to choose a school behind my parents back and selected my own High School, with the help of a youth welfare officer.

"From that day on, I was handled a lot more strictly, which of course made me rebel even more. Looking back on those days now, I think that was the main problem between Harry and me. We never understood each other's problems, we only saw what the other had and was envious. I saw Harry being neglected by my parents, as they paid her less attention, year by year. In my eyes it was freedom but I guess from Harry's perspective, I was receiving all the love and attention she'd never been able to get, no matter how hard she tried. As a result, we fought like cat and dog."

"John, what you're telling us here, it sounds like you were brought up in an abusive household", Greg interrupted voice hoarse with suppressed anger. "Nobility or not, you and Harry should have been taken out of there."

"Agreed", Mary growled, nodding her head.

"I know that now", John confirmed. "I did a block on mental abuse during my medical training, but by that time Harry was already out of the house and I was old enough to take care of myself. In the end, I used the knowledge to blackmail my family into allowing me to join the army. They would never have allowed me to do it otherwise, and believe me, my parents are powerful enough to do a lot of damage.

"A good family reputation has always been the main concern of the Watson clan, so the threat of revealing our abusive upbringing was enough. Sadly though, that threat has lost its power now."

"Why are you so sure about that?" the Detective Inspector wanted to know, but Mary looked grim as she grasped the situation.

"If John's parents are that powerful, they'd have no problems making people question their son's credibility. They'd ask why John's never voiced these accusations before, maybe point out John's situation, implying he simply wants to blackmail his own family for money, to improve his situation."

"Worse", John added with gritted teeth, "They've told me in no uncertain terms that they would have no qualms in openly and ostentatiously giving me money, painting themselves as the ever-worrying and generous parents, willing to overlook their child's faults simply out of love for me."

"They've approached you with this already?" Mary questioned, scandalised.

"Of course they have", was the muttered reply. "when I tried to use the old leverage to get them to leave me alone. Which brings me back to my current situation. As you now know, my family is not exactly perfect, though my sister isn't at as much fault as I've always assumed. If they keep approaching me, even though I've told them not to again and again, I'm sure they've been doing the same to her ever since she left home and married Clara.

"Damn it, I'm such an idiot!" John cursed, pounding his fist hard on the table. Immediately two sets of hands covered his clenched hand, offering comfort. It was only a small gesture, but John was surprised to find himself calming down immediately. Their wordless reminder was true; he couldn't wallow in past regrets. That had happened often enough two years ago, after Sherlock had faked his own death and even now, when he was dead for sure, John refused to regret the things he may or may not have done.

For example, marrying Sherlock. Not for the sentimental gesture this usually represented, because he knew the consulting detective well enough to know that he would not have appreciated that at all. It was simply the idea of formalising their partnership on paper. It might have been all he needed to keep his parents at bay because an informal relationship could be hushed up but real proof would not have been as easy to hide.

Determined to stick to his resolve, John sighed, looking at Greg and Mary with grateful eyes.

"Right, no delving in the past, understood", he confirmed with dark humour, trying to lighten the mood at least a bit. It didn't help much, but their lips quirked up in a faint smile.

"When I came back from my stay at the Holmeses, my parents surprised me with a visit, stating in no uncertain terms, that they wanted me to marry and prepare to become the heir of the family, even though, when I left home, I denounced all claims to the family money, title or privileges. Unfortunately, they're now turning out to be much more stubborn than I expected.

"They've been pressuring me for weeks, no matter how many times I've shouted 'no'. I've tried ignoring them, but they always find new ways to get to me. They've written e-mails, sent text messages to my mobile, posted on my blog, even sent postcards addressed to Sherlock. I've tried to block them, register them as spam, even change my number, but whatever I do, they're back within hours."

"Shit, that must be illegal", Greg cursed, already half out of his seat to take some action, but John held him back.

"Forget it, Greg! Remember how Mycroft is able to control the CCTV cameras among other things? Unfortunately for me, my parents, as far as I know, work at the same place Mycroft does. What does that tell you about their power and how much the police could actually do?"

"So you've given up?" Mary questioned in disbelief. "I mean, obviously you're planning on getting married after all and, if I understand you correctly, your parents are even organising the event!"

"Only to get them out of my hair", John sighed once more. "As I said, Cathy, my bride-to-be, is an old childhood friend of mine. She suggested the idea of marrying to keep my parents off my back. Of course, we won't live as a couple, since neither of us are interested in that. We'll carry on as friends and as soon as one of us finds the right person, we'll divorce. If nothing else, it will hopefully buy us enough time to come up with something credible to say when we eventually get divorced."

"That's crazy, John", Marry whispered, shaking her head. "You know that, don't you? And what about Mycroft Holmes? If he and your parents are in equivalent positions might he not be able to help?"

"No, Mary, I'm not asking Mycroft for help."

His friends both opened their mouths, about to protest, but he cut them off before they had the chance.

"Look, it's only been what, barely six months since Sherlock died and while Mycroft might pretend otherwise, I'm sure he is no more over the loss of his brother than I am. Not to mention, his parents still need him. I refuse to bother him with something like this, not yet. Besides Mary's right, I admitted as much. I'm not over Sherlock's death either. This whole fight with my parents all these weeks, has left me feeling tired and hopeless. I still feel as if I've no idea where to go from here, what to live for. That might sound pathetic of me, but it's how I feel.

"So I'm asking you, as my friends, as people I'd trust with my life, to leave it alone for now. Let me go through with this stupid marriage, buy some time to gather my strength. I hope that I'll be able to get out of this shit sometime soon, find real meaning in life again, just as I did when I met Sherlock for the first time. When I reach that point, I promise you, I'll be ready to fight again and I'll be happy to accept all the help I can get."

"Promise, John?" Mary asked worriedly, she and Greg still stricken by his rare honesty.

"Really!" John confirmed, grabbing both their offered hands to seal the promise. "Thank you! Thank you so much for your support. This really means a lot to me, guys."

"By the way, since you've invited us to your wedding, when will it take place exactly?" Greg asked as an afterthought.

"And be assured, we will come", Mary added fiercely. "Even if the whole thing is a farce, you'll need all the support you can get."

John looked moved by her words, though, as he glanced at Greg, his face became a bit sheepish.

"Uhm, this might be a bit short notice but... in five days."

"WHAT?" Mary shrieked while Greg groaned, putting his face in his hands.

"Where the hell do I get a good dress from in such a short time?"

SHxJWxSHxJW

Sherlock Holmes was checking out the entry to Burgess Park from an alley on the opposite side of the street, a dark look on his face. He'd had nothing but bad luck ever since he arrived safely in London. It had nothing to do with his strategy regarding the case, of course. From his perspective everything had worked just as it should. He'd been very careful throughout the journey across Europe, changing his disguise three times and making sure to only get rid of the last one after he was nowhere near Baker Street, New Scotland Yard or Barts.

He'd made good time, as he hadn't expected the suspect to arrive at the meeting point until two days later. Still, he had prudently decided to take no risks and had been waiting and watching the park from day one. It was only because of this precaution that he had heard of the murder which took place on the second night of his surveillance. Of which crime, Manuel Franke, his suspect, was the unfortunate victim. The police were still taking samples and inspecting the crime scene when he arrived.

As the district was nowhere near Lestrade's area, Sherlock considered taking the risk of simply showing up and letting his reputation do the rest. However he decided against it, because in his experience, it would still be exceedingly tiresome having to deal with stupidity left and right. Besides, it turned out that the crime scene was in a very favourable alley. The surrounding buildings were tall and easy to enter. He easily walked up several flights of stairs and used some binoculars he had with him to take a look.

A short inspection quickly told Sherlock that the murder had nothing to do with his original case. The culprit was not the friend Mr Franke was supposed to meet, as Sherlock had first conjectured. Instead, the clues pointed towards a robbery gone wrong. Not really surprising in Sherlock's opinion since, even after all his international dealings, Franke would still not pass as a local. The robber must have thought of him as a tourist, with a wallet full of cash ripe for the picking. No matter the reason, it didn't change the fact that the main key for solving the case was gone. Yet, there was one hope left that would prevent Sherlock from having to start from scratch. The friend Manuel Franke was supposed to meet didn't know about his death. The meeting was still on.

This explained why Sherlock was now standing in front of Burgess Park, watching as his next piece of bad luck played out. He was just about to enter the park to continue his watch for the third day, when he spotted the black car stopping right in front of the entrance. Grumbling, he considered whether or not it would be a good move to simply ignore the passenger and continue walking into the park.

However, he had to concede that he'd been lucky to be left alone for the two days since his arrival back on British soil. Not caring to turn around, the consulting detective waited in front of the park entrance until he heard the soft, familiar sounds of footsteps. Sherlock put as much indifference as he was able into his greeting.

"Mycroft."

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry for the long wait this time, but that's how it is when birthday and the first Christmas preparations get into the way of the author. :D I'm still not completely done with expecting guests and keeping things ready for that occasion, but my jewel of a betareader at least did the work in between when I found some free minutes to send her the chapter. I do hope that the next chapter won't be such a long wait, but... well Christmas is coming nearer and that means more celebrations to prepare for, so I can't promise anything. For now though, enjoy the next chapter. :)

* * *

Title: **And Blood Doesn't Count  
**Part: 6/11  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Happy End  
Pairings: Sherlock/John  
Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

Summary: Sherlock has returned to London and his meeting with Mycroft holds in some shocking revelations. For both of them.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

And not to forget, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors!

* * *

Sherlock could feel the heated gaze of his elder brother piercing him from behind and he had to admit it surprised him just a little. Of course, he hadn't expected Mycroft to be thrilled about his long absence but his brother had never tried to contact him to request his return. If the elder Holmes had wanted to, he could have sent someone to get him, just as he had done in the past.

But now there was no denying the unusually tense atmosphere. Groaning with exasperation, Sherlock whirled around, glaring at his brother. At first glance, Mycroft looked as indifferent as ever. However to Sherlock's keen eyes, and the knowledge he had of this man, he was once more surprised to realise that Mycroft was barely repressing a strong emotion. His older brother was angry with him. That was new.

Throughout their lives, during all those years growing up together, Sherlock could only remember one time when Mycroft had been really angry with him. It had occurred when Sherlock had fallen into a deep hole as a child, due to his own foolish behaviour, nearly breaking his neck and scaring Mummy half to death. Usually, all he was able to evoke in his brother was exasperation and at worst mild annoyance. However, Sherlock didn't have enough patience to find out what was wrong by simply deducing the facts. With his brother's expertise at hiding emotions that would take far too long.

"Mycroft, for God's sake, my time is short", the consulting detective groaned, stomping his foot. "If it's about the fact that I didn't announce my arrival, that shouldn't really surprise you, should it?"

It seemed as if one astonishing event was following on the heels of another, because now he was absolutely certain he was watching his brother, his older, always emotionally-controlled brother, balling his fists as if to keep himself under control. However, that illusion ended when Mycroft opened his mouth - shouting.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes! Are you out of your MIND?"

At that point, Sherlock honestly had enough. He simply would not allow Mycroft to shout at him as if he had committed the worst crime ever.

"Mycroft, I don't know why you've suddenly decided that you need to scold me," he countered with a glare. "You always boast that you know me best. Why then are you so surprised by my actions?"

"Oh please, Sherlock, if it was just between ourselves, I couldn't care less what you do", his brother scowled. "But did you ever stop and consider with that 'brilliant' mind of yours how much your actions would hurt all those people you undeniably do care about? Worse, did you think of Mummy and Father? Do you have any idea how devastated they've been these last months?"

"Devastated?" the consulting detective snorted in disbelief. "Please, what's the difference between me staying in Germany or staying in London? We both know John was the one who kept in contact with them, not I."

"Ah yes, John, how kind of you to remember him. Did you not make him a promise? Didn't you very forcefully announce to me that if another threat such as Moriarty ever emerged, John would not be excluded? Did you honestly think there could ever be forgiveness if you pulled off a second stunt like this?"

Sherlock suppressed the onslaught of emotions that the mention of his lover's name aroused in him. He quickly turned his back to ensure Mycroft couldn't read the feelings written all over his face but he knew it was too late. His brother's keen eyes had already noticed. What amazed him though was the flicker of surprise on Mycroft's face. To try and divert attention from his own annoying feelings, Sherlock quickly countered Mycroft's last question.

"Do you really suppose it matters anymore what John would have thought?" he challenged bitterly. "What good does it do now to wonder what John would have made of my decisions? But congratulations are in order, brother dear. In the end you were right, were you not? Caring is not an advantage. Therefore excuse me for eliminating the sentiment and allow me to get back to The Work."

A pause followed his mocking words and Sherlock tensed his shoulders, expecting his brother to respond with his usual sarcasm. As a result, what happened next caught him completely off guard.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft's voice had lost its angry edge. Instead he sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. "Why are you talking about John in the past tense? What happened in Germany that made you decide to turn your back on the only person you ever allowed inside your heart?"

Sherlock spun around, wide-eyed, staring at his brother, searching, analysing. A favour which Mycroft of course returned. Both siblings came to the same conclusion almost simultaneously.

"You have no idea why I'm angry with you", Mycroft realised softly.

"You seriously have no idea what I'm talking about", the consulting detective countered just as quietly. Both minds were racing.

"Sherlock, you made us all think that you had died in Germany. You not only played your friends for fools for the second time, but you included John Watson once again. You did not avail yourself of my resources as you had done previously, nor did you tell Mummy or Father of your plans. Do you know how devastated they were when my people returned with what the DNA test confirmed to be your remains? They are far from over your death, you know? And neither is John."

"What... what are you talking about?" Sherlock couldn't help but shout. He felt the loss of control over his emotions, over his brain and he hated himself for it. His mind was spinning, spiralling around the fact that Mycroft was talking about John as if he were alive. Therefore it came as no surprise to the consulting detective when his next sentence sounded awfully close to a sob.

"John Watson is dead, Mycroft! Stop talking about him in the present tense, as if he was still here to judge my actions. And why would anyone think I was dead? I TEXTED you that I wouldn't be returning for John's funeral and that I would be staying in Germany for some time longer. You confirmed that message."

For the first time in his life Sherlock witnessed something he never thought possible. Mycroft looked as if someone had punched him in the face.

"John, dead?" he chocked in disbelief. "Sherlock, why would you think that? He's perfectly healthy, although still trying to get over your 'death'. Worse, he is being pressured into getting married to a childhood friend in two days' time. Not for love, of course, it's a charade. However, I'm certain he wouldn't be doing anything so stupid if he thought you were still alive."

Suddenly Sherlock's mind was racing, trying to take in all this information, while battling with his soaring heart for dominance. The heart which he was so sure had been broken, frozen and then cast away. The heart he had sworn to bury and never allow to be used again. Except that was when John was dead. When he THOUGHT John was dead. Which he was not, if Mycroft was to be believed.

In fact, while his dislike for his brother made their relationship difficult, they both knew Mycroft would never lie about something as serious as this. Which meant that John was alive and getting married - but not to him. In the back of his consciousness, Sherlock was barely aware of the deductions his mind was making, having received such shocking news. The obvious conclusion was that someone had not only tricked him, but had also outwitted Mycroft Holmes, the greatest mind in the United Kingdom, as much as he loathed to admit it, and then only to himself.

Nevertheless right now, Sherlock didn't care about his deductions. All he cared about, all he could see inside his mind palace, was a church and John in his one-and-only suit, standing beside a woman Sherlock didn't even know. He could almost hear the sound of wedding bells. Every single horrible, sentimental cliché he hated so much was unfolding inside his mind. Personally he didn't care about marriage. He didn't need a wedding, a state or the world to confirm that John Watson was his.

However, he had never denied that he was more often than not a selfish man. Self-centred and possessive, Sherlock had hated to share John with anyone else, long before they had become a couple. Therefore, just the thought that John, his John, was going to be married in two days' time was an outrage. Impossible. It could not happen.

"I have to go to John!" Sherlock was about to storm off, the case he had originally returned to London for all but forgotten. However his brother, who had finally come out of his stupor, intercepted him surprisingly quickly, gripping his arm and holding on to him strongly.

"Sherlock, wait!"

"Wait? WAIT? Mycroft, John thinks I've been dead for nearly half a year. Again! Furthermore he's going to be married in two days? I cannot allow that. I need to see him, I need to explain!"

"Of course you do, Sherlock", his brother replied in that annoyingly patient voice, which grated on Sherlock so very much in times like these. "But I can tell you with certainty that if you try to contact John directly, his parents will know you are here in Britain and they will intercept you. They will do everything in their power to ensure that John never learns that you're alive, at least until after he's married."

Seldom though it happened, Sherlock had to admit that Mycroft did have more knowledge regarding the situation then he himself. In fact the difference in insight between them was so enormous that Sherlock's fight against his brother's grip slackened. He looked into Mycroft's eyes, seeing the cool, calculating look that told him his brother had realised what was going on now and was already forming a plan.

"Explain!" Sherlock ordered simply, voice tight with stress.

"I'll explain while we go", Mycroft agreed, directing his younger brother without further ado into the waiting car. Once both were sitting comfortably enough, he settled his full attention on the agitated younger man.

"As we have both concluded by now, someone has gone to a lot of trouble to trick not only one, but both of us, with remarkable success", Mycroft summarised succinctly. "I gather from your statements that you were made to believe John is dead."

"Car accident, you delivered the news personally by phone call", Sherlock confirmed shortly. "Obviously someone planned this a long way ahead. They must have watched us for some time, to ensure that I would never suspect the caller was anyone except Mycroft Holmes."

"Of course you're right", his brother agreed with a short nod of his head. "And while they successfully manipulated you into staying away from Britain, they also ensured that everyone here thought you had died in an accidental explosion in Rostock. They certainly planned this very well. Nothing was left to chance. Somehow they got samples of your bones and then they waited patiently until a serious accident happened in Germany, when they were able to plant them for my people to find. We were unable to find any foul play regarding the accident because it really was one. It was only the planted evidence that was not. An option that caught my team totally unawares."

"Yesyesyes", the younger Holmes chanted impatiently. "And by the look on your face you already suspect who is responsible. You're considering our counterattack, in which, believe me, I am burning to take part. All obvious conclusions. However, I'm still currently more interested in getting to John first."

Nodding absently, Mycroft apparently considered their options before coming to a conclusion and regarding Sherlock seriously.

"Reaching John and preventing the marriage is certainly our top priority, never fear. However as it stands, everything that has happened up till now is directly related to that wedding. There are circumstances and information of which you are currently unaware that will be vital for the prevention of exactly that event. Let me ask you, Sherlock, what do you know about John's parents?"

For once, the consulting detective decided not to struggle and make his older brother's life difficult. This was about John after all, and he immediately deduced from Mycroft's reaction and subsequent statement that the elder Watsons played a very important role in this mystery. Many explanations had already fallen into place but there was still not enough data for him to form a full picture. There was also an obvious way to fix that. Shrugging his shoulders, he returned Mycroft's gaze, calmer and ready to embark on the most important case of his life.

"Not much", Sherlock admitted before he came to a sudden halt, his eyes widening.

"I'm such a fool", he cursed, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulled in frustration until it hurt. Mycroft reacted with alarm. He touched Sherlock's hand briefly, a wordless request to stop what he was doing.

"Sherlock!"

"John's parents!" Sherlock shouted, angry at himself. "The man impersonating you told me that Harry Watson was the only person left of John's family. I had always suspected differently but I was in so much shock over the news of John's death, I didn't consider questioning that assumption. If I had, I would have realised the man couldn't have been you, Mycroft, no matter how well he impersonated your voice and manners. Feelings! - useless when it comes to the discovery of the truth!"

"And yet, sometimes we cannot help their presence, as much as people like us loathe them", his older brother admitted softly. "So you at least suspected that John's parents were still alive?"

"Yes. When John moved in to Baker Street, I naturally noticed his lack of contact with them, even though he was still in touch with his sister, annoying as it was most of the time due to their constant bickering. At first, I suspected that either they were dead or John had no wish to see them. Later, I leant towards the latter conclusion."

"Why?" his brother questioned in an indifferent voice. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"John would occasionally talk about dead friends and comrades, fond memories and all that sentimental nonsense, so he obviously didn't shy away from death, yet his parents were never mentioned. However, when a person angered him beyond the point of forgiveness, I noticed that he disliked any reminder of them at all.

"Of course, there was still the possibility that he had indeed parted from his parents in bad blood and they were dead anyway, but I knew John well enough to believe that he would not hold grudges beyond the grave. Moriarty is a shining example. I know he hated that man, hated him for the fact that I always considered him a worthy opponent intellectually. He hated to mention his very name if it could be avoided, but he had fewer problems after I told him that Jim Moriarty was truly dead. Considering all of the facts, his parents being still alive and he on bad terms with them was the most obvious conclusion."

Nodding, Mycroft promptly confirmed Sherlock's reasoning.

"I know you usually prefer to rely on your own deductions and you hate anything that has to do with my job and politics. Consequently I never deemed it necessary to inform you about John's parents. A mistake, I now realise, although for reasons I never anticipated."

Sherlock's only answer was an impatient snort.

"Lord Hamish Watson, John's father is the oldest son of the 17th Earl of Worcester, a family with very ancient roots. The Watson's are powerful aristocrats. The same can also be said for his mother's ancestors. Lady Henrietta Frances Watson was originally a Carfax. Maybe you remember that name, because nearly a hundred years ago there was quite the scandal involving one of her ancestors, Lady Frances Carfax. The family is tied to tradition, and Lady Frances was supposed to marry a man she neither loved nor wanted. She rebelled and nearly succeeded in running away with her secret lover, if not for betrayal by a close servant. Fearing public censure if they openly dragged the unwilling heiress back after her break for freedom - times were changing after all - they arranged for an abduction which was supposed to end with the family heroically rescuing their daughter and her virtual imprisonment under the pretext that she needed to recover from the emotionally rollercoaster of the abduction."

"I remember indeed, I read about the case during my university studies", Sherlock recalled, still impatient. "The family turned to the wrong people. The fake abduction became a real one with her captors wanting more money than they had already been paid in advance. When the family refused to pay, the criminals tried to get rid of Lady Frances by burying her alive in a hidden compartment within the coffin of a recently-deceased old lady.

"For those days, it was a surprisingly clever plan, I have to admit. She would have vanished in front of everyone attending the burial with none the wiser. If it hadn't been for an unexpectedly perceptive inspector putting the clues together just in time, they would never have found her, or at least not alive. As it was, the masterminds behind the plan were all revealed, because it could only have been those people who organised the funeral and ordered the coffin in the first place."

"Exactly", Mycroft nodded. "Though, the whole story still ended in tragedy for Lady Frances. She had been drugged heavily, not to mention the lack of oxygen during her time inside the coffin. She lost her mind over the whole affair. The family of course received custody and were able to marry her off to the original groom without objection. They didn't care that she was unresponsive to almost everything, as long as she was strong enough to live and bear children - which she did, in fact. She died after the birth of her second child, if I remember correctly."

Seeing Sherlock's impatient growl, the elder Holmes hastened to continue.

"Anyway, after that unfortunate affair, the Carfax family resolved that in future the upbringing of every child, especially the girls, would be very strict to ensure that family interests were always at the front of their mind. Lady Henrietta turned out to be a product _par excellence_ of that resolution. Her marriage with Lord Hamish Watson was arranged, as is still the tradition with both families, no matter how outdated that kind of thinking is nowadays when even the Queen's grandchildren are able to choose their partners for themselves. Lady Watson gave birth to a healthy, promising baby girl first and years later John followed.

"However, with the current school system and modern teaching methods, Lord and Lady Watson had some unexpected difficulties raising their children according to their own principles. Harriet and John both turned out to be independent thinkers and rather stubborn. Harry wasn't willing to let other people dictate her life, especially after she realised she was a lesbian and felt absolutely nothing for men. She tried to break free from her parents. However as history had already shown, getting away from that family is difficult. In the end, Harry's parents were partly responsible for her failed marriage, heaping unnecessary and nearly unbearable pressure on young Clara Watson while driving their daughter to drink, and then declaring her a failure and a disgrace as a daughter and as heir for the Watson-Carfax family.

"John doesn't know that by the way. Harry never wanted him to know all the details therefore he still thinks the breakdown of the marriage was mostly her fault. I must say though that, with all the

interference by his parents, John has started to suspect."

"John is slow, but far from stupid as most other people are", Sherlock could not help but agree proudly before he gestured for his brother to continue.

"John was also fond of his freedom and making his own decisions. You know well enough that he is friendly and sociable. His parents tried one too many times to dictate who he was allowed to befriend and who not. Later, when Harry fell into disgrace, the pressure on John to become the next heir increased, in addition to the title which he would already inherit as the only male child of his generation. He was supposed to study politics and start in the same branch of work as his parents who happen to work in the same division as I do. They are not as influential as I am, obviously, but we use some of the same people and if anyone would have been able to fool us both like this, it would be them.

"Anyway, the last straw for John was when he found out that his parents had destroyed the list he had handed in regarding the subjects he wanted to study at Secondary School. They exchanged it with a list of their personal preferences. Furious about the betrayal, John was able to force through his original list of subjects and finish his secondary education on his own terms by joining a Comprehensive School where he earned the grades he needed to become a doctor. As you can deduce, he then enrolled in the army, as that was the only way to get away from his parents. He cut his bonds with his family, except for minimum contact with his sister, and left for Afghanistan right after he finished training.

"The rest you know, of course. John was shot and invalided home. To be honest, I might even suspect that his family paid the sniper to force his return, if not for the fact that he indeed nearly died from the injury. However, I'm certain his family planned to approach him when they learned he was back in London. Unfortunately for them, by the time they found out about his return, he had already met you and you became inseparable.

"I realise now, however, that they were simply biding their time. When John told Mummy and I that he was going to marry his childhood friend just to get his parents out of his hair, promising there was no love between them and no plans to turn his friendship with Cathy into anything more, I was suspicious. I checked into that woman even more thoroughly than the first time but could find nothing."

Realisation had already started to dawn as Sherlock listened and analysed the facts Mycroft was relating.

"While you were certainly aware of just how stubborn John's parents could be, you never expected them to misuse the power their position afforded them, nor to have registered the very minimal contact you had had with John yourself. They used resources from your work right under your nose to blanket anything negative you might have otherwise found out about that woman who claims to be John's friend."

"Furthermore they must have been watching both of us", Mycroft admitted, "and our interactions with each other closely enough to collect sufficient information to fool you with a phone call posing as me. Not to mention getting DNA samples and even bone particles from God knows where to play my whole team for a fool over in Germany."

"Oh the bone samples are obvious, Mycroft", Sherlock pointed out dismissively. "I wouldn't be surprised if some of their people were working under you during the two years I was going after Moriarty's web. I'm sure you remember being forced to organise enough surgeries for me that they could have taken their pick from for many samples of my insides, don't you think? In fact I vividly remember that one time you shouted at me about that gunshot wound where they had to pick bone splinters out of me. In hindsight I admit we made it easy for them. Anyway, you already have a plan. We need to reach John before he gets married, so what do you have in mind, Mycroft?"

"We have only one day to collect as much proof as we can that Lord and Lady Watson were responsible for faking both your death and John's to each other, that this Cathy is definitely involved and then we need to smuggle you into the wedding to reach John before he stands in front of the altar with his wife-to-be. As the history of John's family confirms, I'm certain his parents would not settle with their son being simply married. Naturally they'd expect an heir. His parents chose that woman for him, consequently she is supposed to become his wife, his lover and the mother of his children. Any other option would be against everything that family ever stood for, twisted as that may be."

"Agreed", the younger Holmes uttered coolly before appraising Mycroft through narrowed eyes. "And something else, brother dearest. While we might both have been fooled, it's obvious that you've become lazy, pulling strings within the British government all these years. You depend too much on facts handed to you on a silver platter, especially if it means less legwork. Let's change that, shall we?"

Mycroft didn't answer but simply raised a challenging eyebrow when Sherlock stretched his hand out expectantly. "I know you have photos of that Cathy woman. Give them to me and let me see what they tell us!"

Wordlessly, Mycroft presented him with a tablet which Sherlock studied avidly. There were a lot of surveillance photos as well as simple family snaps, all marked with the date they were taken. On each he could see Cathy Stormhill. Starting with old photos back from her childhood, some included a blond boy of her own age, who Sherlock immediately recognised as John. Without noticing, his lips twitched into a quick smile at the sight of his flatmate as a child. Then he looked at the photos in earnest, searching for clues.

Mycroft left him working, not a word disturbing the tense silence. It took Sherlock some time as there were many photos, but finally he looked up, face tight.

"She's an addict", he concluded. "Not drugs, but gambling. Her family doesn't know, she's been able to hide it successfully so far. She has debts, or at least had them before she was approached by someone who paid them off for her, possibly a friend, but much more likely one of the Watsons. The clues also indicate that she's involved in the schemes of John's family and she plans for more than a farce marriage. Clues are not enough, of course. We need proof, especially if we are to approach John."

Mycroft took back the offered tablet and studied the photos himself for a while before he finally looked up at his younger brother.

"Ah, I see", he agreed. "Surveillance often found her in a district well known for its casinos. There are shopping districts nearby, of course, but they're cheap, not something for a stylish woman from a good home. Also, there are no shopping bags and in most photos she looks downcast, as if she's just received bad news."

"Go on", Sherlock ordered, nodding. Making a small face of displeasure at his younger brother's smugness, Mycroft continued none the less.

"All the photos of her, starting from her teenage years, show her wearing the same jewellery. Each piece looks old and taken care of, as far as I can tell from the quality of the photos. This points to family heirlooms, as her family is not only rich, but has ancient roots just like the Watsons.

"However, at a later date she is suddenly missing every piece of jewellery. In some photos, she's wearing different earrings and a necklace, but they're cheap, the sort of thing even the poorest woman could buy in a supermarket. Hence the conclusion: She was forced to pawn her family heirlooms to pay her debts."

"And yet, here she is, just eight months ago, wearing the same jewellery as always", Sherlock added in a superior fashion, a sneer of disdain on his face now. Mycroft nodded in agreement, his features as emotionless as always.

"I see your point, brother. Clearly someone ensured that her family heirlooms were returned to her. Something no one would do out of the goodness of their heart. She must have made a deal. I'll use my connections to check for activities on behalf of the Watsons relating to pawnshops.

"Now, about your statement that Ms Stormhill is in on the plan. I take it you got that idea from one of the most recent photos. She's seen visiting a chemist's but she doesn't look ill and there's no surveillance photo of her anywhere near a doctor's practice. The most telling evidence however is the pregnancy test in her hand. She isn't currently in a relationship and there have been no one-night stands, consequently no reason for her to suspect a pregnancy. However, she hopes for one in the near future. We know of course, that the wedding is supposed to be a farce to keep his parents out of John's hair. Certainly, he intents for nothing to occur between them in the near future, if ever. Ms Stormhill, on the contrary, thinks differently."

Sherlock scowled but nodded in approval.

"Something's very wrong here, if she's already planning ahead for a pregnancy. With her debts and her continued gambling, the most logical conclusion would be that she's been offered further payment for an heir."

"Something we know to be well beyond the point at which John would draw the line", Mycroft added. "Consequently this brings up the rather interesting question: How does she plan to change his mind?"

"What I don't understand", Sherlock wondered, voice frustrated, "is why John agreed to this whole wedding nonsense in first place. That's not his usual way of handling things. The John Watson I know would never agree to marry someone just to make his life easier."

"Well, I fear it's partly my fault", Mycroft sighed, earning himself a dark look from his younger brother. "I didn't know about the wedding until quite recently, to tell you the truth. I've been too busy being there for Mummy. This time it wasn't an organised fake death, Sherlock. Please remember that your family as well as all your friends thought you dead for real. Father and especially Mummy were devastated. I was even forced to take some time off to keep them company when everything became too much."

By now, Sherlock's scowl had softened and he looked a bit guilty at the idea of his parents' grief. Half a year ago, he wouldn't have understood. However try as he might to suppress his own emotions, since the apparent death of his flatmate, his lover, he could sympathise a bit too well for his comfort with their feelings.

"We need to tell them", he said softly and his older brother nodded.

"It was going to be my first call once I'd ensured that my mobile phone was no longer influenced or spied on by a third party", he explained before returning to the main topic. "When our parents were well enough to be left alone again, I returned to work only to find out that Lord and Lady Watson had used their power to stay close to their son, more or less terrorising every one of his available contact lines to force their wishes on him.

"On a normal day, with you by his side, Sherlock, you're right; he wouldn't have given their nagging a second thought. However, you have to understand that John has been hit very hard by your loss. He's already mourned you once, dear brother and this time nothing indicated a further deception. Besides, he believed in your ridiculous little promise, that you would never do something like that to him again. Consequently, he had to assume you were really dead.

"The sadness, the loneliness has torn away his usual strength. He was and still is simply too tired to fight, Sherlock. He's tried to, but his parents understand how to hit just the right nerves. In the end he gave in to gain time. He hopes to get over your death by the time Cathy falls in love with someone else or his parents start to remember they also want grandchildren to continue the line.

"By the time I learned all of this it was too late to offer John my help and you know how he is, too proud to consider asking me himself. He knew I was taking care of our parents and I... admit the idea of your... loss might have broken my heart just a little bit too."

Sherlock stared at his older brother, eyes wide in disbelief as he opened and closed his mouth, speechless.

"What the hell am I supposed to say to that?" he finally got out through clenched teeth, frustrated now. Mycroft shrugged.

"Whatever you like, dear brother. Perhaps I'm not as immune to sentiment as I would like to be."

There was a short pause, filled with silence before Sherlock decided on a change of topic.

"So, John has no will to fight the pressure of a marriage and has agreed to enter one, thinking his childhood friend has offered a harmless solution in form of a pretence, even though he isn't in love with her at all. It's obvious that a straightforward offer to create a family would be declined by him, because even in his current state John knows where to draw the line."

"More or less", Mycroft confirmed. The car stopped before they could discuss anything further. Sherlock, in his impatience, was already about to leave the car, but his brother held him back.

"No, Sherlock, you have to wait inside the car", he pointed out gently. The younger man opened his mouth to protest, but Mycroft continued quickly.

"I need to go in first to check with security. I'm sure Lord and Lady Watson have kept an eye on everyone, including me, to ensure no one learns the truth before John is married. In fact, I'm worried, that they might already know you're in Britain, Sherlock."

Here, the consulting detective snorted, disdainfully.

"Now that I know what's going on I can see through the mysteries in Germany of course", he told his brother. "Five idiots, who don't know how to trail me without being seen, are the Watson's eyes and ears. Ah yes, and Hastings, my contact man. He was the one to suggest my staying in Germany in the first place. I have to admit, his subtlety about the matter was admirable. I never suspected for a second my staying could have been his goal in first place."

"Ah, do they know you're gone?"

"Mmmh, it's now the..." Sherlock checked the date in his mind, "fourth day, since my escape. I checked in with Hastings before I left Bremen, telling him I was going to stay in the Inn for a few days to try and make sense of some leads."

At Mycroft's incredulous gaze the younger brother rolled his eyes and explained.

"I've been suspicious for some time about those idiots trailing me, they obviously weren't your agents. Add to that Hastings not trying to get rid of me, despite his obviously growing dislike for me personally. I didn't know that the two mysteries were part of the same scheme, but I had already planned to find out what was going on after my latest case was over. Not that the case matters anymore, mind you.

"Consequently, some time ago I started to spend several days in my lodgings, even though I had already solved the case, to allow my watchers to think of this as normal behaviour for me."

Sherlock smiled wryly when he added.

"I've trained them not to be suspicious for at least five days if I don't come out of my rooms. Hastings also thinks I'm still in Bremen."

"Good, very good", Mycroft praised, rising from his seat. I will ensure that the surveillance of this building and of myself is removed without the Watsons knowing. Then I'll instruct my people to check the reports of Hastings and his men. If they don't know of your escape yet, we'll turn the tables and intercept every message for the Watson's from now on."

"Mycroft", Sherlock scowled warningly. "I'm not going to just sit here and keep quiet.

"Of course not, dear brother. Allow me to ensure surveillance is gone from here. Then I'll get you and we can start searching for evidence. How does that sound?"

Sherlock's face became a lot more eager with the promise of a challenge and speedy reunion with John.

"Acceptable!"

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

Title: And Blood Doesn't Count  
Part: 7/11  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Happy End  
Pairings: Sherlock/John

Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

Summary: With the truth of the plot against John and Sherlock revealed, the consulting detective and his brother are working feverishly to gather the evidence needed to ensure their credibility. Not to mention, they need a plan for Sherlock to reach John without the Watson family realising. It is time to recruit unexpected allies.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

And not to forget, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors!

* * *

If Sherlock had felt the urge to check how much time had gone by since their arrival at what he liked to call his brother's "lair", it would have been exactly eighteen hours and seventeen minutes. There was only one day left until John's marriage to his dubious childhood friend, Cathy Stormhill.

Nevertheless the consulting detective knew they already had a great chance of stopping this madness before it was too late. Mycroft, his team and he himself had gathered enough evidence to present to John and ensure he would believe Sherlock's words and not lash out angrily about another poor attempt to gain his forgiveness.

They had certainly worked hard to gather the evidence. After their arrival Mycroft had done a thorough but discreet sweep of his own work space, his phone and every other important communication device. He also ensured his most trusted employees took over the video feed from the security cameras before he brought in Sherlock who was eager to start collecting data.

However, first and foremost, the Holmes brothers had called their parents on a secure line. It was Mycroft who gently explained to their mother that her youngest son was alive and well. The hearty sobs of relief after she heard Sherlock's voice left both men quite lost for words. This was one of the few traits they shared, their difficulty when dealing with emotions, especially those of their parents. It took a while to calm their mother down, and even longer to end the call because, after she got over her shock, Mrs Holmes demanded to know what had really happened.

Mycroft couldn't get away without briefly explaining the involvement of John's parents, and how everything had been done to ensure the marriage of the young Watson heir to someone of their liking. Ms Holmes was furious.

"Mycroft, can't you just gather the evidence and end this whole charade right now?" their mother demanded. "Poor John, as if he hadn't already been through enough."

"It's not that easy, Mummy", the elder Holmes explained calmly, while Sherlock listened via the loudspeaker. "I could gather the evidence in a few hours and take it to my superior..." Beside Mycroft came a snorted "What superior?" but he ignored it and simply continued as if nothing had happened, "but in my line of work the use of surveillance for personal reasons is not unusual. I use it to keep an eye on Sherlock, you know that Mummy. Rather than arresting Lord and Lady Watson, they would firstly have to authenticate the evidence which would take days. Time we don't have if we want to ensure Dr. Watson doesn't marry and unknowingly allow worse to happen to him."

"Don't worry, Mummy", Sherlock clipped in. "I already have a plan. Give us a few hours to collect data and we'll be ready to contact John before the bride can walk down the aisle."

"Well, I guess I have to trust you to ensure your and John's happiness, Sherlock dear", his mother sighed, but it was warm and full of encouragement. "But don't expect your father and me to sit here and wait for your report. If you plan to go to the wedding in two days, so will we. I'll see you at the church, darling! Mycroft make sure that your brother doesn't overwork himself."

With those words she had hung up before either of her sons could protest. The brothers exchanged a wry look.

"It seems I'm going to a wedding in two days", Mycroft stated smoothly and Sherlock sighed, slightly annoyed.

"Just make sure they behave themselves until I've had a chance to speak to John."

"Naturally. Shall we get to work then?"

"Let's!"

SHxJWxSHxJW

It was unsurprising that both Mycroft and Sherlock worked through the night. Sleep was for normal people with their mundane little lives of peace and quiet. After nearly 24 hours of collecting the most outrageous information, both brothers were busy sorting through the evidence when the vibration of a mobile phone broke the silence.

"Ah", Mycroft inspected the incoming message from his assistant.

"What?" Sherlock demanded.

"My people have just intercepted a message from our friend, Hastings. He's reporting that you're missing in Bremen."

Sherlock allowed a smirk to cross his face.

"Slow. They took even longer than I expected to notice."

"It's worked in our favour, though", Mycroft reminded him. "No knowledge of your vanishing act will ever reach the Watsons. They'll think everything is perfectly all right."

He paused, texting a quick reply back to his assistant, no doubt instructing her to send fake information back to Bremen, before he straightened up, looking at the younger Holmes seriously.

"Anyway, I think we've gathered all the evidence we require. We need to discuss our next step, Sherlock. How to get to John without anyone noticing until it's too late. The surveillance Lord and Lady Watson placed on their son is unfortunately rather heavy."

"Easy, I already have a plan."

"Oh?"

"Spare me the sarcasm, Mycroft", Sherlock shot him a glare before opening a file on the computer at which he was currently sitting. "We already know who the Watsons are watching and how intensely. Since we're now in a position to decide which messages and phone calls they receive and which they don't, we can select the two people under the lightest surveillance and arrange a meeting, with myself in disguise of course."

He stopped for a moment, marking two names on the list of people being watched, and showed them to his brother.

"Harry Watson has been overlooked by her parents. They believe she is in no position to learn that I am still alive, and her relationship with John is not that close. She is protective of him nonetheless and she will be willing to help, despite her alcoholic tendencies."

Sherlock pointed to the next name.

"Mary Morstan. Here John's parents have really made a serious mistake. I deduced on my first meeting with her that she is no simple war veteran. She's been keeping secrets and my assumption was strengthened the night she overwhelmed that sorry excuse for a burglar in John's practice."

"Indeed, there is more to her than meets the eye", Mycroft agreed with a mild smile. "Her file is classified, however and only people of sufficient rank are allowed to take a look. I'm lucky enough to be one of those people. The Watsons? Unfortunately not."

For once Sherlock couldn't help but agree with the smug satisfaction in which his brother was openly basking.

"Excellent, this is like Christmas! Mary's loyal to John; she'll help when she knows what's happened."

"Indeed, she's against this farce of a marriage anyway, though she's kept quiet because John asked her to", Mycroft informed Sherlock. "So, when do you plan to take action?"

"The meeting should happen today. I need to be there, in disguise of course, to tell them what's going on and instruct them in their roles."

Sherlock paused, frustration crossing his face briefly before continuing.

"I would love nothing more than to meet John today as well, but security around him is too tight and I can't come up with any scenario that would be more than ninety percent in our favour. It will have to be tomorrow, just before the wedding begins."

"All right, so we start with the messages. What do you want to send them?"

An invitation from one to the other to meet and chat about last-minute arrangements for the wedding. One of the messages can even be seen by the Watsons, just to ensure they're not worried if the two women suddenly meet up in strange places without warning."

"It's a good thing that the two met once before at your home, Sherlock and even more in our favour that they've already worked together during the wedding preparations, or their meeting would be suspicious, regardless."

Sherlock shrugged, not caring about 'what ifs'.

"Will you be all right handling the meeting arrangements?" he asked Mycroft, rising from his seat. "I need to get changed into my disguise to be ready for the meeting."

Mycroft nodded absentmindedly, already taking care of the text messages.

"I'll inform you when it's time to leave", he murmured. Sherlock inclined his head slightly, then stalked out of the room.

SHxJWxSHxJW

The café Sherlock and Mycroft had chosen as a meeting place was reasonably busy as it was midday and also fairly close to John's practice although distant enough to ensure less surveillance.

Sherlock was standing nearby, disguised in a short blonde wig, darkened skin and wearing casual clothes that made him look years younger. He had a bag nonchalantly slung over one shoulder and was looking up and down the street, as if waiting for someone.

Harry Watson showed up first. Not unexpected as she was currently unemployed. She had more time on her hands and had been making a concerted effort to get sober. Being punctual was a step towards an orderly life, according to the psychologist's notes in Mycroft's file.

Harry sat down at one of the free tables near the door of the café, under a big sunshade which was just as well since Sherlock knew for a fact that the CCTV cameras were unable to catch that angle with the sunshades in the way. Of course that didn't mean Mycroft wasn't watching her arrival closely. Just as agreed, Sherlock's mobile rang and he answered petulantly.

"Brian, where the fuck are you?" he complained loudly into the speaker, listening as Mycroft told him that Mary would be arriving in approximately two minutes. Nodding his head, he allowed an angry scowl to appear on his face before replying:

"Yeah, yeah, that's all well and good but you've left me waiting here for ages, mate. Listen, there's a very nice café here and I feel like treating myself to a coffee first. I might feel ready to join you afterwards. No, I don't care if you don't have all time in the world. You should have been on time!"

With those words he ended the phone call, pushing the phone angrily into his jeans pocket and stalking over to take a seat at the table right beside Harry's. She glanced over at him once, having obviously overheard the one-sided conversation, but otherwise she ignored him. They both ordered coffee and settled to wait for their third party to join them. Not that Harry knew, of course, that her neighbour was waiting for the same person.

When Mary finally arrived, Sherlock used the distraction of their greetings to surreptitiously steal the menu from their table. He settled back into his chair, pretending to browse the contents while in truth listening to the conversation by his side.

Mary ordered tea and both women waited for their drinks to arrive, chatting about unimportant matters. After the waitress had delivered their order though, Harry's posture straightened and she looked at Mary expectantly.

"So, Mary, I must admit I was a bit surprised by your message. What's so important that you need to speak to me right now?"

Mary, who had been taking a sip from her tea, stopped mid movement before setting the cup down, frowning.

"Me?" she wondered, bewildered. "What message? I never sent you a message. I got one from you though, asking for a meeting. It did surprise me a bit, but I know you've been trying to make this wedding easier for John and I thought you had a last minute request."

Before Harry could give voice to the obvious surprise written all over her face, Sherlock stood up, bending over to put the stolen menu back on the table.

"Excuse me ladies, I'd like to return the menu which, I admit, I deliberately took from your table. I do hope you can forgive my faux pas."

He laid said item down on the table before meeting Mary's eyes. Sherlock's gaze became more intense and her eyes widened at the bold look. Then he deliberately glanced down at the table where the returned menu lay and her eyes following unconsciously. The instant her gaze fell on the note on top of the menu her eyes widened once again.

_'Don't talk, you might be being watched and listened in to.  
Don't hurry!  
Act as if Harry's message was genuine. After a reasonable length of time join me at: _

_Kingly Court, First Floor-The Carnaby Book Exchange  
Ask the employee for THE SPECIAL DELIVERY'_

By the time both women had read the message through and looked up at its deliverer, Sherlock had already left the café. He hadn't even looked around, careful to be as inconspicuous as possible. He leisurely made his way to Carnaby Street which was just around the corner, Kingly Court at its furthest end. It had been his idea to use the Book exchange store as he had once helped the manager with a tricky problem and had been held in high regard ever since. Of course the manager had not been told that Sherlock was still alive, but Mycroft had called him discreetly explaining what help was needed in the name of his 'poor deceased younger brother'.

Sherlock greeted the manager, who had already been introduced to his persona, and was allowed to enter the backroom without further questions. Now all he could do was to wait until Mary and Harry arrived. Of course, he knew they would. Harry might be reticent, but Mary was curious and daring. She wouldn't be able to leave such an obvious puzzle alone until it had been solved. Indeed, Mary had demonstrated those aspects of her personality back when she had been his client herself. Also, she had always listened with great interest to the stories John told during her visits to Baker Street. Not to forget that Mary was a soldier and strong, both physically and mentally. She would not be intimidated, oh no.

Sighing, because the waiting was the only boring aspect of this whole case, Sherlock sat down and started to sort through the photos Mycroft had printed for him to verify what he was about to reveal to the two women. A good decision, as it kept him at least slightly occupied. In the end, he had to wait nearly thirty minutes before he heard their voices in the front of the store, asking for the special delivery.

Mary was the first to enter the room, her gaze hard and blank. Sherlock couldn't deduce what exactly John's friend and colleague was thinking just then. Harry was more obvious. She kept herself safely behind the other woman, looking around, timid and unsure.

"Mmh, you tried to talk her out of coming here", Sherlock blurted out to John's sister before he could help himself. Harry's eyes widened, ogling him in astonishment while Mary's body went rigid, her eyes boring into him.

"The fuck?" the female doctor whispered, then her face became thunderous. Of course, while Harry had only met him on a few occasions, and more often drunk than not, Mary had become a close friend who would recognise his voice. And he had not even tried to disguise it any longer. Naturally she couldn't help being shocked when a man she believed to be dead started talking to her. The instant Mary realised who was in front of her, however, she strode towards him and in a motion quicker than he could follow, she punched him hard in the face.

Sherlock was unclear how he ended up on the floor, but Mary was already half over his body attempting to crush him to the ground while Harry's alarmed squeak could be heard in the background, when he finally found his voice.

"Mary, it's not my doing this time!" he shouted, pushing the photos he was still holding right under her nose. "I've only known for exactly twenty-seven hours, sixteen minutes and some seconds that John Watson is alive and that everyone thought I was dead."

She opened her mouth but he knew what her next accusation would be.

"I would have approached John immediately, if I could, you idiot woman", he snapped, frustrated by the simple reminder that this was exactly what he wished to do but could not. "John is under surveillance. They've taken precautions to ensure he won't find out the truth before he's wed and they're powerful enough that they may well succeed if we're not careful. That's why I need your help. I need to enter through a backdoor."

Both women had been paying careful attention and the longer Harry listened, the bigger her eyes became until she swayed and fell down to the floor, finally recognising the disguised men in front of her by his voice.

"Sherlock?" she whispered faintly and Mary hurried over, her instincts as a doctor kicking in, making her forget the photos and the man for the time being.

"Deep breaths, Harry", she instructed the shocked woman calmly, while checking her pulse. Harry shook her head slightly to indicate she was okay but she followed the instructions anyway, taking several deep lungfuls of air. Sherlock approached the two slowly until he came to a halt right beside them and crouched down carefully.

"Hello Harry", he greeted quietly. "I take it I'm supposed to offer my apologies for causing you such a shock?"

Smiling painfully, she raised a shaky hand to wave him off.

"You don't do polite, Sherlock", she offered in a weak attempt at humour. "For heaven's sake, don't start now."

Chuckling, he offered his hand to help the shaken woman back to her feet and over to the employees' seating area. After everyone found a seat, it was, surprisingly, Harry who opened further conversation.

"You mentioned something about John being under surveillance and his wedding", she summarised before adding in a small voice, "My parents?"

Even though it sounded like a question, her face told a different story. She knew it to be the truth and Sherlock confirmed it with a nod.

"Okay Sherlock, I admit I only learned part of the Watson history less than a week ago", Mary offered. "And while I certainly didn't like what John told Greg and me, I'm starting to suspect that I know hardly anything at all! So, to get things straight, what the hell is going on? In particular, what happened six months ago?"

Sherlock held out the photos, inviting the two women to take a look. While both busied themselves with pouring over the pictures, he began to explain. From the fake news he received of John's death, to the careful manipulation of his continued stay in Germany, and from the intercepted phone messages between himself and everyone in Britain to the unexpected lead in his current case which brought him back to the UK where he met Mycroft and finally learned the truth.

By the time he had finished, Mary was obviously fighting very hard the urge to storm home, take hold of the illegal weapon she - just like John - had kept after her discharge from the army, and simply shoot the Watson parents. Harry was subdued; no doubt she was still trying to cling to the faint illusion of a family bond. However, it was patently clear that the last thread of that bond would be breaking soon enough. Her anger at what her parents had done to her little brother was growing steadily by the second.

"So, a direct approach is too risky", Mary summarised the situation. "But as you've contacted us of all people, I'm taking it you already have a plan in mind?"

Sherlock smirked, his brain racing with all the possible, wonderful outcomes of his plan within the next twenty-four hours.

"Indeed, Mycroft and I have worked something out. I approached you because you two have the least surveillance. They've underestimated the both of you and we are going to use that to our advantage."

Harry straightened up, her eyes blazing as she meet Sherlock's cool gaze.

"John and I have always had a difficult relationship", she confessed, "and I admit that it's partly my fault; I've been jealous while he he's been stupid. But he's also the only one who never heaped any family expectations on me, who encouraged my marriage to Clara when I had to fight tooth-and-nail against my parents. I'll do whatever I can to rescue him from the fate my parents are forcing on him."

"Right, just as she said", Mary agreed, steel in her voice. "Tell us what to do!"

And Sherlock did.

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

**Edit: 06.05.2015**

I just realised that it has already been months since I posted the last chapter, therefore I decided to leave a little note in case some of you might worry about the future of this fanfic. This story is completed, so you don't have to worry, it will be finished. However, real life caught up with me and my wonderful betareader likewise, which is the main reason the next chapter is not ready yet. Please know that I'm not a native speaker and I make a lot of mistakes, which means my betareader has a lot of work to do to go over my mistakes. That is a time consuming business which she does in her free time. The same goes for me, I always try to go over her corrections carefully in hope that I keep some of it in my mind and hopefully will not repeat those mistakes in the future. As I'm currently busy with job hunting, I have not a lot of time left either to read nor to go over corrections. I do hope you people can understand. I'm of course sorry that I leave you hanging here, but we'll do our best and try to get the next chapter ready as soon as possible. Until then, I thank everyone for their patience.

Sincerely

Usagi-Atemu-Tom /`^_^´\

Title: **And Blood Doesn**'**t Count  
**Part: 8/11  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Happy End  
Pairings: Sherlock/John  
Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

Summary: The day of the wedding has arrived. For John it is certainly not a happy event. However, something strange seems to be going on. Why are certain people acting weird?

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

As always, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors!

* * *

"Johnny, sweetie, you look wonderful!" his mother exclaimed the moment she stepped over the threshold. Mrs Hudson, who had opened the door for his parents, looked sympathetically over their shoulders at John. He had been persuaded to wear a black suit with a white shirt for the occasion and a small white flower in his breast pocket, the name of which he couldn't identify.

In all honesty, he felt like getting back into bed, hoping everything was just a really bad dream and he would wake up any minute to find himself beside Sherlock. He would panic for a moment, then break down in a fit of sentiment, which would cause his bedmate to pull a face. But Sherlock would give him time to get himself together, because John was generally an exception in terms of his tolerance towards sentimentality. That didn't mean Sherlock couldn't be overly annoyed with him sometimes.

Of course, it was only wishful thinking. He didn't want to count how many times he'd had episodes like these, hoping to wake up from a bad dream only to have a rude awakening. This time it was his mother's shrill, excited voice invading his consciousness. John had to suppress a tired sigh, as reality took hold of him once more. Mrs Hudson mouthed a small encouragement which his parents couldn't see, before she went down to get ready herself. His landlady was aware of the reason for the wedding and over the last few days she'd been there to offer support when his other friends could not. Originally, no one beside Greg and Mary were supposed to know the truth about his agreement with Cathy but he couldn't refuse to at least invite the kind old lady to the wedding. When he did, her response had been astonishing. Mrs Hudson reacted with a combination of disbelief, anger and sadness.

It was, she had said, far too early for a new love in her opinion, and then she asked if he had been unfaithful before 'poor Sherlock's death'. That one stung too much to let go. John had been forced to tell her the truth, if he was not to lose her support and friendship, not to mention his own dignity. After the real reason for the wedding had been revealed, Mrs Hudson had soon turned to anger and sympathy on his behalf.

"Oh John", she sighed, hugging him will all her might, surprisingly strong for such an old lady, the doctor noticed.

"Why didn't you say something sooner? I could have helped at least a little. Taking Sherlock's mail for example, so you wouldn't have to read your parents' notes. The nerve of those people! How could someone as nice as you have such unpleasant parents?"

His landlady had promised him that she would keep her eyes and her mind open, and if she had any ideas for a permanent solution to his annoyingly insistent parents, she would let him know immediately. He was a bit astonished to realise that the list of people holding grudges against his mother and father was growing rapidly. Even Molly, always pleasant and polite, had something unfriendly to say about his mother after a rather disastrous fitting for the bridesmaid dresses. Of course, the real reason for the fight on that occasion had been the fact that his mother was angry that he preferred his friends for bridesmaids and best man (he had asked Greg) rather than someone from his 'oh so wonderful' family.

No, his family certainly knew how to leave a bad impression on the people he really cared about. But looking on the bright side, he was hopeful this might at least be a small source of amusement to him throughout the whole unpleasant day; watching his friends discreetly glare at his parents during the ceremony. Besides, remembering how snobbish his mother could be about people she thought were beneath her, he was sure even those friends of his who didn't know that the whole wedding was a farce, would surely not think too highly of his family by the end of the day. It was a small comfort.

Otherwise he didn't care much about anything. John was aware he was far from being himself yet. Sadness and tiredness still lingered, even with Cathy being quite supportive over the past few days. One time she had tried to cheer him up by describing the utter nonsense they could get up to, things that no other couple would ever think of on their wedding night. She told him all about the hen party she had allowed the Watsons to throw for her. Nothing as 'distasteful' as striptease or mindless drinking, though, as was the usual fare. John wasn't surprised; his parents hated those kinds of parties since drunkenness offered the perfect opportunity for people to create a scandal. So Cathy had been invited to a theatre, to watch something cultural. Although, she told him with a twinkle in her eye about how she had later left with some of her closest friends to wander through the city, right behind Lady Watson's back. It had been fun for her.

Trying to cheer him up, however well-meant, hadn't really worked for him though. The feeling that he was betraying Sherlock had been nagging at him for quite a while but no other solution had offered itself so far and John didn't feel able to stand up and fight for his rights just yet. He needed more time to get his bearings, to get over Sherlock's death.

For the moment he had to content himself with small victories. Like avoiding his own stag night. As best man, it should have been Greg's duty to organise his farewell to bachelorhood. But of course, his parents hadn't trusted one of his 'ordinary' friends to come up with something befitting a Watson so they organised something themselves, not even informing John or Greg about their change of plans. At least they send them both invitations, though only a day before it was due to take place.

Greg had declined, saying there was too much to do at the Yard. John had declared in no uncertain terms that he would rather be arrested and spend the night in a police cell than go himself. Which was why he had begged Greg to take him as a consulting doctor on what turned out to be a gruesome case. John spent his time looking over two male bodies cut into pieces right at the crime scene, with no obvious motive. Not exactly a situation with a party atmosphere (although Sherlock would have begged to differ, John knew), but it was far preferable to the alternative. The evening went well until he was delivering his estimation of the time of death, when his phone rang.

"John Hamish Watson", his father's stern voice could be heard the moment he answered the call. "Your family and friends have been waiting for over an hour for your appearance. You're making a mockery of your splendid upbringing. Moreover, to be late for something as far below our family as a petty crime", he trailed of, the disapproval obvious. John snorted into the phone, unwilling to enter into a discussion he knew he wouldn't win anyway.

"Listen, MY friends are not even at whatever it is you've organised there. It's just family and they can think what they like of me, I don't care. I'm not coming! I'm busy with a crime scene. Tell them to have fun!"

"Well, if you think highly enough of yourself to believe you're indispensable to the good police, give it a try. I'm sure the Police Constable can be persuaded to pressurise Detective Inspector Lestrade into withdrawing you from the case", his father threatened.

"Oh, how very generous of you to specifically ask Lestrade's supervisor to give me some free time", John sighed listlessly. "After all, what else could I do but go to your wretched party? It's not as if I couldn't find other ways to amuse myself. Breaking into somewhere, for example. Just imagine the headlines in the papers tomorrow morning 'Flatmate of dead consulting detective Sherlock Holmes arrested for break in!' Or no, how do you think 'Watson heir weds in prison after an attempted break in!' would sound?"

There was a loud choking noise on the other end of the line as Lord Watson seemed to be indeed imagining it. John didn't allow him any time to recover from his subtle threat.

"You know what? Just spare me your kindness and leave me alone!"

Nothing else happened for the rest of the night, except for a nice cup of tea with Greg and Molly in the morgue, talking about everything but the upcoming wedding while, with his mind's eye, he watched the ghost of his lover stalking the rooms full of interesting bodies.

SHxJWxSHxJW

That had been forty-eight hours ago. Now unfortunately, the day of the wedding had arrived and his mother stood in the middle of his living room in 221B Baker Street, complaining about the state of the flat and how he should see to finding new living quarters for his bride and himself as soon as possible.

John would not be breaking the news to her until it became absolutely unavoidable that he and his wife would be staying in separate flats. He simply ushered her out of his rooms, announcing that he was ready. Better to finally get it over with.

SHxJWxSHxJW

The Watsons had chosen one of the bigger churches in London that was available for the wedding, of a size befitting the number of guests expected to attend. John spent most of the early morning greeting people he either didn't know or didn't like. He didn't even bother to disguise his dislike or his annoyance at being there at all. His parents wanted the marriage so they got it but they hadn't specified that he had to be overly pleased about it. Of course, his dark, unfriendly looks earned him more than once a disapproving look from his mother or one of her cousins. John continued not to care. He was just glad Cathy was being held in a separate room and would only appear when it was time to walk down the aisle. He was not looking forward to playing the loving husband, if only for a few short hours.

John's true friends arrived one or two hours after him, just as he had asked them to. He knew they couldn't arrive too late, but the least he could do was spare them any more time than was entirely necessary with his annoying family. Molly Hooper was one of the first to arrive and she looked especially lovely in her bridesmaid dress. He was grateful that he had insisted on Cathy appointing the pathologist as one of her attendants. Even if this wedding wasn't what he wanted, he could at least make an amazing young woman feel special. Molly thanked him for his compliment with a shy kiss on his cheek, wishing him all the best.

John was so busy greeting and mingling with guests around the church that he didn't notice the newest arrivals until he heard a familiar voice calling out to him.

"John! So good to see you, dear."

"Violet", he responded with surprise, allowing the old lady to kiss his cheeks heartily in greeting, her husband standing just behind her with a wide smile. Even Mycroft was there. Of course, John should have known better.

"Silly boy, no matter the reason, you're getting married. How could we miss this?" Sherlock's mother chided him gently, her gaze never losing that warm look of affection. "I admit I was very surprised when Mycroft told us the wedding was happening today. I know you said you would wed that girl, but we didn't expect the date to be so soon. After all, you didn't send us an invitation, young man."

John was starting to feel guilty.

"I'm so sorry, Violet", he apologised tiredly, also nodding in the direction of her husband and eldest son. "But obviously it isn't Sherlock I'm marrying. I thought it would be cruel to ask you to witness this when only six months have gone by. You know the reason for all of this, and my intention to find a better, more permanent solution to my problems still stands, I promise."

"Don't worry, son", Siger addressed him for the first time. "Mycroft has already informed us of a perfect solution he'd like to offer you later today."

"Of course he has", John muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He turned his attention back to the smiling mother of his dead lover, wanting to say something more, when he saw his own mother hurrying over, a look of annoyance on her face.

"Johnny dear, what is going on here? Who are these people?" she immediately wanted to know, her face insincerely polite and cheerful.

"Uhm, these are the parents of Sherlock Holmes and his older brother, Mycroft", John introduced a bit at a loss. "And this is my mother, Lady Henrietta Watson."

John was surprised when his mother nodded in Mycroft's direction.

"Mycroft Holmes", she greeted frostily, though with an obvious air of someone who knows the opposite party. "I'm surprised to see you and your 'lovely' parents here. I don't remember you being invited, I must say."

"Lady Watson", Mycroft replied coolly, barely nodding his head. Unsurprisingly he offered no explanation for his presence, but by now John had recovered from his confusion and was ready to face up to his mother's spite once more.

"Oh, didn't I inform you, mother?" he asked mockingly, not hiding his insincerity for a moment. "I'm so sorry, it must have slipped my mind. The Holmes' are my guests of honour today. We weren't sure if they'd be able to make it, though. You're aware, of course, that they're still mourning a deep loss within the family."

He glanced at Sherlock's parents and brother to ensure that they were not offended by his words. To his utter surprise, Siger Holmes smiled slightly, while Mycroft even looked approving. It seemed Sherlock's brother was rather satisfied with John's quick improvisation and the way he handled his mother. Mrs Holmes, however, ignored John completely and stared at his own mother with a strange look on her face. If he didn't know better, he would say it was deep resentment. Though John couldn't explain why she might be feeling that way. After all, as far as he knew Sherlock's parents and his own parents were only meeting for the first time that day.

Consequently, John was flabbergasted when Violet suddenly raised her hand and slapped his mother resoundingly across the face. All around them, silence fell. Everyone who had witnessed the scene stared in shock at the two elderly ladies.

"That's for your treatment of John", Mrs Holmes spat furiously, before Mycroft, arriving at her side in one quick step, dragged her a short distance away from John and his mother. "I've heard all I need to know about you. How could you, his own mother, act like this? You don't deserve to have children at all!"

"Mummy, please", Mycroft urged quietly, looking over at John with a wry smile. He didn't seem sorry for Violet's action itself, but for the scene she had caused. By now, excited chatter had broken out among the spectators, gossip spreading fast.

"Come on, my dear, let's leave Lady Watson alone. She'll get what she deserves, I'm quite sure", Siger interrupted cryptically, steering her away. "Let's allow John to get ready for his wedding, shall we?"

He glanced over at the doctor, smiling kindly.

"We'll see you later then, son."

His kind words were echoed by his wife. John nodded at them, still a bit stumped by this turn of events. He watched as they found some seats close to the altar, before he remembered Mycroft. The elder Holmes son had stayed behind, waiting until his parents were out of earshot.

"I apologise for my mother's behaviour, Lady Watson. As I'm sure you can understand, she's rather upset that this marriage won't be the one of which she dreamed to my younger brother, Sherlock", Mycroft explained wryly. "His death has hit her hard. But rest assured, she hopes with all her heart for John's happiness. That's why my parents accepted his kind invitation, after all. Now please excuse me, I'd like to see to my parents' comfort. John."

He nodded his head and was gone before anyone could even blink. John was about to say something to his still-outraged mother in an effort to calm her down, when suddenly Mary and his sister Harry appeared by his side, both looking worried.

"Is everything all right here?" Mary wanted to know while Harry started fussing over her brother, glass of red wine swinging dangerously in one hand.

"John, a' you 'kay?"

"Harriet, what are YOU doing here?" Mrs Watson practically shrieked in outrage, needing an outlet for her fury and obviously finding it in the presence of her daughter. "I can't remember you being asked to attend."

"It's m' brother's weddin', where elshe 'd I be?" Harry countered stubbornly, a glare on her face. "An' in cashe you forgot, I 'elped with the organishat'on an' execution. I won't let you keep me 'way."

"Oh, and set on embarrassing poor Johnny on his big day, I see", their mother snorted, pointing at the drink in her hand. "You're already drunk, aren't you? Don't you dare let the guests notice!"

"What 're you talkin' 'bout? I... ", Harry protested but in her anger she forgot about the glass in her hand. One forceful movement and most of the precious wine had found a new home on John's crisp, white shirt and suit jacket. Harry moaned guiltily, while her mother growled in anger.

"You stupid, useless child! Look what you've done! How is John supposed to stand in front of the altar looking like THIS?"

"Oh dear, I'm sorry", Harry mumbled, quite downcast, in John's direction but pointedly ignoring their fuming mother.

"Oh dear, that looks like it won't be easy to get out", Mary noted, taking a closer look at the drenched clothing. "John, we'll need a professional to fix this."

John just shrugged. It wasn't as if he really cared about the wedding, never mind how he looked. In fact, for all he cared he could be standing in front of the entire congregation wearing a suit covered in mud. This was not what he had wanted, after all.

"Oh, we certainly do need someone to fix this, now!" his mother agreed, glaring at Harry nastily. "And I'll make sure you pay every penny of what this will cost, Harriet. I just hope to God that I'll be able to find someone at such short notice to fix this mess. The wedding is supposed to start in an hour and a half, for heaven's sake."

"If I may, Lady Watson?" Mary stepped in briskly, her smile friendly and soothing. "I happen to know someone who'd be just right for the job and he still owes me a favour. I can call and get him here within minutes. The name of the company is Welsh &amp; Hope Dry Cleaning Ltd. They're just a few streets away and have a very good reputation. It would save a lot of time and needless searching, no?"

His mother looked sceptical at first but after a quick check-up with her mobile, she nodded haughtily in Mary's direction.

"They look acceptable. Please call your friend in then. Tell him we'll pay any price he wants if he can get Johnny ready, preferably within the hour but no later than one-and-a-half from now."

Mary nodded and got out her own phone, quickly leaving the building. John's mother and sister stayed behind, though now Mrs Watson took his arm and started to steer him out of the crowd.

"Come Johnny, let's get you somewhere quiet where you can clean up in private."

She looked over at Harry, as his sister moved to follow them.

"You should get out of my sight, Harriet", their mother warned with a stony glare. "Why don't you organise yourself a new drink and then lurk in some corner where no one can see you?"

"But I wan' to help", his older sister slurred angrily. "After all, this 's my fault, sho let me at least try to make up fo' it a bit."

"And cause even more damage? I think not. John, off we go!"

But before he could move any further, Harry suddenly grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug, not caring that the wine stain was now ruining her lovely beige suit.

"I'm sho proud 'f you, little brother!" she declared loudly, before continuing in an urgent whisper. "John, don't let on to mother what I'm about to tell you now, but please remember: whatever happens, let him explain to you first. It's important that you do."

And with that surprisingly sober-sounding speech, she let go of him, a big, very false smile on her face before staggering away, not looking at their angry mother once. Lady Watson grabbed John by the hand and pulled him through the crowd more forcefully than she normally would have done, with her obsession for creating a good image. It still took some time to reach the back of the church, where several small rooms served as dressing areas as well as the offices for the staff and vicar.

One of the members of the choir showed them to an empty room in response to his mother's forceful demand. A moment later, they were joined by Mary and a tall, elderly-looking gentleman who had a small trolley with him, which the doctor suspected contained the equipment needed to take care of the ruined clothes. Mary introduced the stranger instantly.

"John, Lady Watson, this is Mr Welsh senior. He is one of the founders of the dry cleaning company and he will ensure that those wine stains are gone long before the wedding starts, don't worry."

His mother nodded a cool greeting to the man, before turning to the other woman.

"Thank you Ms..."

"Morstan", John offered reluctantly.

"Yes, Ms Morstan. Your prompt assistance here is much appreciated. If you could leave us now, I'm sure John will be able to express his gratitude later during the reception."

Mary looked over at John, a bit unsure, but he simply nodded, hoping to appear reassuring. He was starting to feel really tired again. The mention of Sherlock earlier hadn't helped to improve his mood and he knew he was going to have to force himself to get through the next few hours. Mary sighed, but then she pulled him into a hug as well, although rather more carefully than Harry, so as to not ruin her own, lovely dress.

"Good luck with the suit and the vows, John", she told him kindly, before she also leaned closer to his ear, adding in a hurried whisper. "Don't blame him, John, it's not his fault, I swear!"

Then she was gone, leaving him absolutely confused, with only Mr Welsh and his mother for company. Lady Watson looked expectantly at the other man, becoming more and more impatient the longer they stood motionless.

"Well then, Mr Welsh, if you would be so kind as to start cleaning my son's ruined clothes? It's not as if we have all day."

Mr Welsh looked at her, quite confused, before clearing his throat.

"You're staying to watch?" he wondered. His voice had a slight accent that hinted at Canadian. "Please excuse me for intruding, but I admit that's the first time I've ever seen an adult son not complain about having to undress in front of his mother. Its surprising in this day and age to see a family which still has such strong ties."

John immediately saw his chance for some peace and quiet.

"He's right," he declared briskly, pushing his surprised mother towards the door. "You may go, mother. I'm sure we'll be able to get this sorted without your help. See you when the wedding starts!"

And she was out of the door, though not without a small protest.

"But Johnny, I have to ensure everything is done correctly. Not to mention paying the bill."

"Oh, please, I think I'm just about capable of spotting any remaining stains, mother", John retorted dryly. "And I'll make sure the invoice is forwarded to Harry."

The door closed with a bang. Before he could even heave a sigh of relief however, Mr Welsh strode forward and to his utter astonishment turned the key in the lock to ensure their continued privacy. Blinking, John looked at the old man, not having expected such perception from a stranger. Welsh was looking back at him silently and John found himself shivering for no apparent reason. Harry and Mary's strange behaviour came back to him, their warnings and requests. Something was going on here and it was with a growing sense of foreboding that he slowly stepped away from the other man.

He wasn't even surprised when Welsh followed him step for step, until suddenly he was standing right in front of him, invading his personal space. John had just enough time to notice piercing, sharp eyes in a colour so familiar to him before he was pulled into a crushing hug and he found that the other man was shaking.

"God, John!" was the first whisper against his ear and this time there was no hint of an accent. The voice was different as well, deeper than before, stronger. Yet it also sounded vulnerable, as if overcome with emotion. This was something he had never expected to ever hear in that voice, but the familiarity was undeniable. With only two words quietly uttered, John recognised the sound immediately, barely believing what he was hearing. He felt himself become boneless. He would certainly have swayed, maybe even fallen to the ground, if not for the strong arms still clinging around his shoulders and waist.

"I'm sorry, John", the man continued after a dramatic pause, his voice not only stronger and louder, but also hurried, as if afraid John might stop him and never allow him to speak again. Strangely enough, John was just about to do that very thing when his companion spoke again.

"Before you judge me, you have to allow me to explain, John. Because this time it wasn't me, it wasn't my fault. You have to believe me, John. I had no idea. They told me YOU were dead. YOU. I thought everyone knew I was staying in Germany. I thought Mycroft had received my message and already knew I never wanted to set foot in Britain again with you gone.

"But he didn't; HE thought I was dead. As did father. And Mummy. And you. God, I promised you I'd never do this again, didn't I? Yet here we are. Only now I understand, John. I understand how you felt three and a half years ago, because I thought you were dead and God, you'll never hear this from me ever again, I'll never give in to this sentiment after today, but I owe it to you, for what I did back then, and for what you've had to endure these last months - I AM sorry, John. I'm sorry, because now I understand. Because I thought you were dead and it hurt so much, John. Never again, I'll do anything I can to ensure that you never have to go through this again."

There was silence for a moment. John's mind was blank, his eyes and mouth wide open. He was breathing too quickly, his heart felt like it was trying to burst out of his chest and his ability to speak was gone. However, his ears took it all in. Each word in that beloved, familiar voice, the one he thought he would never hear again.

Finally Sherlock, because the man could be no other, pulled him a small distance away, just so that they could look into each other's eyes, and continued in a hard, determined voice:

"I've got proof that this was no scheme of mine, John and I have to explain what's going on. We don't have much time, I'm afraid."

It was as if a dam had broken. John could feel his eyes burn and fill with hot tears as the mask and wig were ripped off, thrown carelessly to the floor and Sherlock Holmes, his beloved Sherlock emerged with his familiar pale skin, curls of dark hair and those intense, green-blue eyes, which, to John's utter amazement, mirrored his own tears. He couldn't remember Sherlock ever shedding tears before, except as an act for a case. This time was different though.

John had never been that good at seeing through Sherlock's acting and until that very day he had only marvelled at the sight of the man changing from cool, calculated and untouchable to a crying mess. It was a show so very convincing that he would have believed it himself, if he had not known better. It was his instinct, however, which told him that, for once, Sherlock was not putting on a show now, but was truly pleading for the doctor's forgiveness. And John, unlike the consulting detective, trusted his instincts.

This was the main reason why he didn't rant, scream or throw a punch as he had done last time Sherlock had faked his death. Instead, he wound his arms around the other man's body and pulled him back into an embrace, burying his face, wet with tears, into the other's neck.

"Sherlock! God, Sherlock!" was all he was able to choke out and the sentiment was returned with a whisper, equally as emotional.

"John!"

TBC...

* * *

Author's Note:

Well, a lot of people have been waiting for this chapter. I do hope I was able to meet your expectations, especially concerning Sherlock's reaction. Now there are only three chapters left, wow, time goes by fast.


	9. Chapter 9

I'm so very, very sorry for taking this long with the chapter. While the story itself is finished, the fact that I'm not a native speaker means a lot of corrections before each chapter is ready for posting and this time real life caught very much up with me. I was so busy these last months I barely found time to go over Patroklo's amazing work. I do hope it will be better for the next chapter, but sadly I don't want to make any promises. Just know that this story will definitely be finished, no matter what.

* * *

Title: **And Blood Doesn't Count  
**Part: 9/11  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Happy End  
Pairings: Sherlock/John  
Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

Summary: Sherlock Holmes is alive. John Watson is not amused. And he has a plan. Revenge is a dish best served cold.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

And not to forget, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors!

* * *

John had no idea how long he'd been standing in the middle of the room in an old church, holding on to the man he had thought he'd never see again. He was still a bit afraid of waking up any second, only to realise it had all been just a dream. But nothing happened. He could feel those strong hands, warm and hard against his back, pressing him tightly against Sherlock's body.

It was seemingly with great reluctance that the consulting detective all too soon loosened the embrace to look John in the eye, face serious. The tears were already dry, and if John hadn't seen them himself just minutes (or was it years?) before, he would hardly have believed that Sherlock Holmes of all people could have such an emotional moment.

"John, as much as I'd like to stay like this for longer, there are some important things you have to know and time is of the essence", Sherlock reminded in his usual, unemotional tone.

"Yeah, I think I remember you said something about assuming I was dead? What the hell happened six months ago, Sherlock?"

"You are aware your parents occupy positions in the government similar to those of my brother, Mycroft?" Sherlock wondered and John groaned.

"My parents, of course, who else could have been this... this manipulative?" his face slowly turning red as anger stirred within him. "Don't tell me, it's this ridiculous marriage!"

"But of course", his flatmate answered, eyes narrowed. In a quick summary he told John about the fake phone call and how it had been cleverly suggested that he should stay in Germany. He recounted the case which had led him back to Britain unexpectedly and how it was only then that he and Mycroft had realised the truth. Through exchange of information the older Holmes had arrived at the correct conclusions and because John was under heavy surveillance, they had devised a plan involving Mary and Harry to smuggle Sherlock himself into the wedding before John could make his vows.

By way of proof, Sherlock showed John the original text messages he had sent before receiving the information of John's death. He also showed him records Mycroft had found ordering surveillance on both their mobiles to ensure no message would go through without Lord or Lady Watson's permission. He had a lot more evidence, but John didn't need any more. He believed every single word, especially as his parents had more or less terrorised him into this bloody wedding, taking advantage of his emotional exhaustion. There had been no fight left in him, after all.

Now though, John was fuming. He was ready to storm the wedding party and inform his parents in no uncertain terms that their farce was over and they could go to hell. There was one good thing, he realised, out of the whole fiasco.

"Hey, at least Cathy won't have to marry me either", he joked dryly. "I expect she'll be very happy to hear about this. It's not her fault this has all gone so pear-shaped. Not even my parents could blame her for not seeing it through now."

John noticed the strange look Sherlock was giving him, and something cold ran down his spine.

"What, Sherlock?"

"John, Cathy Stormhill is in on your parents' plan", Sherlock announced hesitantly.

"Yeah, of course she is", John replied wearily. "We were both aware of my parents' motives. It's why we came up with this wedding farce in the first place. I know you probably think it was a stupid idea but... Sherlock, I was really tired. I had no strength left to fight, not for a while. It just hurt too much."

"I know", Sherlock reassured him. "Mycroft told me all about your emotional state. Now you might be able to understand why I prefer no sentiment at all. It doesn't help me to function as efficiently as I'd like."

John was about to object, mouth set into an unhappy line, but Sherlock interrupted him with a quick movement of his hand.

"No, I know what you want to say and I won't claim that I was immune to all those feelings when I was in Germany, suffering the consequences of losing you", he assured John who nodded, accepting Sherlock's reasoning. "Nor will I judge you for your decisions, John. While I might think them illogical and annoying, I know that you're a very emotional man, therefore you could be driven to grasping at any straw possible if you saw no other solution.

"However, you must see that you've been manipulated, just as I have. Ms Stormhill might have pretended to come up with that convenient little idea of hers, to act like a couple, marry and then stay friends with no further obligations, but she was being paid by your parents. They've already settled the debts she accumulated through her gambling. She's an addict, by the way, and they've promised her another alluring sum if she conceives a child with you."

John paled considerably at that news.

"A child", he breathed. "But Cathy knows I only wanted us to be friends. I agreed to marry her to silence my parents' nagging but we both agreed we'd keep on looking for a better, more permanent solution as soon as I had the strength to fight back properly. Besides, Cathy doesn't love me. I'm sure of that."

"No, she absolutely doesn't love you", Sherlock agreed. "She's either obsessed with you, the money, or maybe both. Certainly not in love, though."

"What do you mean, obsessed?"

"She's willing to bind you to her by any means possible. Mycroft and I looked through dozens of surveillance photos of your so-called friend to establish her credibility. There was one photo in particular that came to our attention. Ms Stormhill visited a chemist's to buy a pregnancy test. We have confirmed that she hasn't been in a relationship for months. So why the test, if not for her marriage with you? Now, when we asked the chemist's assistant for details of her purchase, we found out she not only bought that test, but also a substance designed to increase sex drive.

"I'm sorry to say this, John but it's obvious. She has the substance with her and planned to put it into your drink later this evening to get you into bed with her. You were supposed to have sex and the next morning she would put it down to too much alcohol. The ideal outcome for her would have been a pregnancy from just one night together. However if that didn't work out, I'm sure she already has another plan for how to push your buttons. Knowing you, I imagine she would somehow have used your feelings of guilt to her own advantage."

Sherlock held out a copy of a credit card receipt to John, who shook his head, having a hard time believing what he was seeing.

"As you can see, it's her signature, though of course the credit card belongs to your parents. We're lucky that Ms Stormhill is currently still impecunious and has to rely on that credit card, which means there is always a signature and a bill to reconstruct her purchases. Not to mention, we're also in possession of the proprietor's original order for the substance. The pharmacist retained it because its sale is restricted. He prefers to be careful and always keeps a copy for his own protection."

John stared at the evidence Sherlock offered with a look of utter disbelief.

"But I've know Cathy since we were kids", John told him, desperation in his voice. "She was my FIRST childhood friend, the only one who never wanted anything from me. She was shy and closed off. They made fun of her for the dimples in her face. I stood up for her against the others and we used to play silly games at break time. How can you say she's in on it? That she would betray me like this?"

"People change, John", Sherlock retorted uncaringly but when he saw the look on John's face, his own softened and he continued more carefully. "John, I know friends are important to you, and I'm sorry that this didn't work out. I'm sure you shared some good memories but you were still children back then and you've grown up separately since. You have different lives now, different experiences and different views of the world. I..." he coughed, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden. "Mummy says that until I was a year old, I was as 'silent as the grave' and up to the age of three I hid whenever visitors came to the house ... behind Mycroft."

John blinked, barely catching the name of Sherlock's brother as it came out in an embarrassed mumble. He took in his lover's hopeful look, his unusual openness and it clicked.

"Sherlock, are you trying to comfort me?"

"Well..." Sherlock stuttered clearly at a loss for words. John burst out laughing, before reaching out to hug the now perturbed-looking Sherlock tightly.

"You silly man, don't try to change for me", he whispered into Sherlock's neck. "I admit, this whole thing is a shock, and hard to bear but... above all I'm so thankful to have you back. I'll be glad if we can just come out of this whole disaster relatively unchanged. So, if offering comfort goes against your nature, just act as you normally do."

"You know that will come back and bite you the next time I start insulting some of Lestrade's men?" Sherlock murmured to the top of his head and John could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Yeah, I know", he sighed good-naturedly before one part of Sherlock's childhood story finally sank in and he looked up at his lover, startled. "Just a second, you said you didn't talk until you were one year old? As in, no baby-talk, yes?"

"Huh, no I meant normal talking. My parents knew I could talk. They caught me often enough in my bedroom pointing at things and describing them. Sometimes I also explained things to our dog. I just didn't like having to talk to people."

"As in full sentences?" John prompted, just to be sure. Sherlock nodded.

"Good God, you and your family honestly thought that not striking up a conversation at the age of one year was unusual?"

Blinking, Sherlock regarded the other man with a small frown of confusion.

"Isn't it? Mycroft started talking in full sentences when he was seven months old, I was told. My parents knew I could also have expressed myself perfectly by the time I was nine months, had I chosen to do so. I just never felt like it. That only changed when I got older."

"Jesus", John whispered. "And you're honestly asking me if that's unusual? Of course you're asking me. Sherlock, children don't usually form complex sentences until the age of three or four. They learn single words here and there, from the age of five to nine months and they might form simple three-word sentences. Meaningful dialogue, though? Well, of course, you would be special."

He smiled at Sherlock fondly, who was still looking a bit lost.

"Come here, Sherlock!" John finally took mercy on the other man, touching his cheek and carefully drawing him in. The kiss that followed was long and sweet, far different from the hard, eager kisses they normally shared. Neither of them was a romantic, so it had been a long time since John had kissed anyone with such softness and care. But for once, this kind of kiss felt right. Both men wanted to savour their reunion. Both were overwhelmed by the realisation that the other was not dead, that they were not left alone mourning the one person who truly understood them on a deeper level.

John took his time to revel in the feeling of Sherlock's mouth on his. Of that daring, usually so-sharp tongue softly pressing between his lips, opening them through careful coaxing, before finally diving inside to get reacquainted with familiar territory.

Sherlock was, as always, very thorough in his explorations. He stroked John's tongue with his own, eliciting that warm, wonderful feeling of slowly-growing arousal, which was stimulated further by long, sure fingers raking lovingly through his hair. Usually their excitement grew much more quickly but for once this wasn't simply about getting the other man off. This was about coming home, about basking for a short while in sentiment and gratitude.

When the kiss finally ended, both men were breathing heavily, eyes lost in each other and burning. John's hands were still buried deeply within those beloved, wonderful curls, while Sherlock's had wandered down to the smaller man's hips, holding him steady.

"Well", John uttered, his mind not really clear yet, but returning faster than he would have liked. "That was something."

"Something, indeed", Sherlock muttered absentmindedly, stunned by his own actions, it seemed. Sadly time hadn't stopped and there were still several pressing matters at hand. John was the first to get himself fully back together and now his look was determined, every bit the soldier Sherlock sometimes witnessed on cases.

"All right, let's get this whole fucking nightmare over with", John said, holding out his hands. "Show me your evidence and tell me what exactly Cathy's done!"

Wordlessly, and maybe still the slightest bit dazed, Sherlock handed over various printouts, allowing John to leaf through them.

"These are mostly warnings and reminders of legal consequences should Ms Stormhill fail to pay her debts", he explained to John. "But as you can see, there's also some email correspondence between your mother and her. The former made several suggestions as to how to ensnare you. There is even an allusion to a farce marriage. Cathy Stormhill has never acted on her own. Your mother has always been in the background pulling the strings but everything has happened with your friend's full approval."

A quiet noise of suppressed anger was all that escaped John after he finished his explanation. Sherlock kept quiet, allowing him to work through the evidence and get a clear picture for himself of the extent of Cathy's betrayal. When he was finished, John calmly put the papers onto the table, which for Sherlock was ample proof of the depth of his suppressed anger.

Both of them were silent for a while longer. Sherlock knew from past experience that it would be best to allow John time to get his emotions in check. Probably best to avoid an explosion of shouting and violence. Not that Sherlock really cared himself, but he knew John would regret such actions later, once he had calmed down. After all, their friends were also at the gathering, not just the Watson family.

"Well, what do you want to do now?" Sherlock asked, watching John carefully to assess whether he had given him enough time to calm down. John's face was still closed off, as sometimes happened during an especially emotionally strenuous case. There was barely anything to read from his features, no emotions at all.

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Once, twice, then a third. As he opened his eyes again, his whole demeanour had changed. He looked determined. A hard, unforgiving look crossed his face, though his eyes warmed as they sought out Sherlock.

"Well, my dear family wants a marriage?" he mused, voice mocking. "I guess we should give them one then. Our friends are here as well, aren't they? The ones we both care about the most anyway, so why not? Sherlock, I know this isn't exactly perfect, well anything but, actually", he turned around to face his friend, looking up into those sharp, grey-blue eyes. John coughed once, for a second embarrassment obvious in his stance, before he tamped it down with determination once more.

"Sherlock Holmes, would you do me the great honour of marrying me?"

Sherlock's eyes widened, for once caught off guard. He blinked, his head turning until he was staring out of the window, as though seeing nothing. It took him over half a minute to get himself together once more before facing the other man.

"John, you know I don't believe in this marriage nonsense. I don't need the world's approval, from the church or the government, to prove you're mine. All that counts is you. As long as you're telling me you want me, then that's all that matters."

John's response was a short, soft smile, full of the very emotion Sherlock had just told him he was asking for.

"I know that, Sherlock, of course I do, but would you mind terribly if our bond was recorded on paper? If we exchange rings in front of the whole world, would it really make any difference to your personal expectations and opinions, to the facts we both know to be true?"

It was the strange way John said 'the world', that urged Sherlock to look closer, finally pulling the threads together from what he saw in John's face.

"Oh... OH!" his whole demeanour changed from confusion to realisation, then glee, pure and simple. "So, that's your plan, of course! It should have been obvious. You would never have been happy without making your point quite clearly."

"Quite", John agreed. "I have to admit, I've been far too lenient with them all these years, simply because they're still family. But enough is enough. They've overstepped the line one time too many and, Harry excepted, I'm done with them. They deserve all they're going to get and more. The question is, are you with me, Sherlock?"

The answer was out of Sherlock's mouth before John had even finished his question.

"It would be my honour, John Hamish Watson."

The smirk was nothing but wicked elation and was only surpassed by an answering one from John.

"Right then", the doctor clapped his hands, glancing at his watch. "We've got thirty minutes left before I'm expected for the ceremony. What do you think? Would Mycroft be able to organise the perfect ring for you to wear in that time?"

Sherlock's grin widened, already in the middle of texting his brother with instructions

"Consider it done in fifteen minutes, twenty if my dear brother is losing his touch."

"Good", John nodded before suddenly remembering his own clothes. "What about the stains? If I go out like this mother will certainly know something is up the minute she sees it's still ruined."

"Please!" Sherlock remarked arrogantly, finally opening the trolley he had bought with him. To John's great surprise, Sherlock presented him with a new shirt and jacket, both looking identical to his current attire. Sherlock grinned at the wide-eyed look he received.

"Of course I'm not a professional dry cleaner but since those stains were part of the plan to get me inside, and as we were not sure what would happen afterwards, Mycroft deemed it wise to order a duplicate suit. Handmade and done within less than twenty four hours", he finished proudly.

"Where... ", John started, but Sherlock interrupted, already knowing the question.

"Former client. Owed me a favour. As did the real Mr Welsh."

"Right. Well at least I now know where Mary got that line from", John noted dryly. "I take it she and Harry were both in on this?"

"They were the two with the lightest surveillance", Sherlock confirmed. "Which made it easy for us to contact them right under your parents' noses."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that at least Harry wasn't in on my parents' scheme. Even with the difficult relationship we've had all those years, I still trust her more than any other member of my fucking family. Cathy's betrayal is bad enough but if my sister had been against me, too, that would've been a lot worse somehow."

"You are aware that your sister's been suffering under your parents' yoke for years, aren't you?" Sherlock asked him conversationally and John looked up from the task of buttoning up his new shirt with a sigh.

"Yeah, I started to realise that during the last few weeks we've spent together organising this bloody farce of a wedding."

"Mmmh", Sherlock murmured, stepping towards John and batting his fumbling hands away from the shirt. "Let me do that!"

Quickly and efficiently, Sherlock fastened the buttons one by one, while John watched him silently with a rueful smile.

"What?" Sherlock questioned, not looking up from his task.

"Nothing, it's just..." John chuckled, "I'm more used to you doing this the other way round."

Now Sherlock had to chuckle as well.

"As I understand it, isn't a wedding followed by a wedding night? Lots of opportunities to have sex tonight then, don't you agree?"

He looked at John with a cheeky grin and the other man nearly choked.

"Jesus, Sherlock!"

His only answer was a laugh, hands busy with tying John's bow tie into the perfect shape. He had just finished when a quiet knock sounded at the door. Sherlock looked at his watch, surprised.

"Ten minutes, now that was quicker than I expected", he noted in approval, unlocking the door. "Come in Mycroft!"

John wasn't surprised that Sherlock knew it was indeed his brother and not Lady Watson on the other side of the door. Mycroft stepped in silently, eyes surveying the room before alighting on John.

"You might both want to get your hair in order", he advised dryly, while handling Sherlock the suit he was going to wear. John blushed, remembering how their hands had been in each other's hair a few minutes before. Sherlock, on the other hand, took the comment in his stride, accepted the offered clothes and started to strip.

"That's a new record, even for you, Mycroft", he commented, eyebrow raised.

"Mmh, I admit I considered all possible scenarios for after John learned the truth. The decision to ask for your hand in marriage, Sherlock, and walk down the aisle in front of the whole family to spite his parents was certainly among them. You would never treat such a significant betrayal lightly and you always repay your debts, John."

He nodded towards the doctor, who just stared open-mouthed before deciding he really shouldn't allow the Holmes' brothers to catch him off guard so often. He should be used to it after all these years. Mycroft appeared indifferent to John's surprise, and simply continued as if nothing had happened.

"Sherlock's suit was made together with your duplicate. That means they are a match. I do hope you'll approve of them as wedding attire. I have also informed the vicar about the change of plans, naturally with an assurance of discretion on his part. He will continue with his original duties until you say differently, John. Of course, he will be paid generously for his troubles. Also, Sherlock your wedding ring is in the breast pocket of your suit jacket, please do me the favour of not losing it in the next hour. It's the only one we could get made on such short notice."

Sherlock's expression turned sour with apprehension about losing the ring, while John couldn't suppress a smile. The taller man's forgetfulness of anything he deemed to be unimportant was notorious and all three men were aware of his motivation for the wedding, which was far from the emotional reasons usually to be expected.

"Ah, by the way, I also asked Harry to kindly reorganise the seating plan. Since my parents and I are supposed to be the guests of honour I deemed it necessary to relocate three of your cousins from the front row. Everything with your approval of course", Mycroft added archly.

"My mother must be fuming right now", John snorted in amusement.

"Naturally. She couldn't prevent the exchange, as you made your wishes very clear. However, she loudly complained to your cousins that there must have been a misunderstanding and she would certainly point it out to you as soon as your suit had been cleaned."

Which meant that another argument was about due. Not to mention that all hell would break lose as soon as John announced his refusal to marry Cathy and Sherlock's reappearance became common knowledge. Not an hour ago, he might have asked someone to shoot him to save him from such an ordeal. However, Sherlock's return to the living had done the trick beautifully. After six agonising months, for the first time John felt full of energy. He was ready to take on everyone and everything, as long as his flatmate and lover was by his side.

As was so often the case, Sherlock seemed to read his mind, because when John's lips turned up into a bright smile, the expression was returned. Sherlock was just finishing his uninhibited change into his wedding suit, when there was another knock at the door.

"John? Are you ready yet?" It was Mary, voice slightly nervous. "Your mother is about to charge down here after you. I was barely able to persuade her to let me come and get you, since she has so many guests to look after. She's in a mood though, and getting very impatient."

"Damn", John swore and looked at his watch. "It's nearly time, I suppose. Well, let her stew for just a few minutes more, Mary. Tell her I'm on my way."

"So, you're still going through with the wedding?" she whispered through the door, a bit confused now.

"Oh, I'm still going to get married, but not to the person my parents are expecting. Brace yourself for all hell breaking loose, Mary."

There was a moment of silence before the three men heard the quiet retort.

"Oh my God, you're not!" Mary sounded horrified and gleeful at the same time.

"Oh yes, I am", John sang back, and his friend departed with an amused squeal. Sherlock and Mycroft looked at the door as if she had turned into an alien in front of their eyes, though the older Holmes seemed slightly less at a loss than his younger brother.

"Is that the usual reaction when people hear about us?" Sherlock finally wanted to know, eyebrow raised. John grinned.

"Not everyone. I'm sure Mrs Hudson will react in a similar way though, once she gets over the shock of you being alive for the second time in three years. I do hope her heart can take that."

"Don't worry, John, she's a strong woman, she won't break from this", Sherlock told him confidently.

"Let's hope you're right", John sighed before straightening his clothes and squaring his shoulders. "I guess it's time. Before my dear mother really does storm in here."

"How do you plan to proceed, John?" Mycroft asked while Sherlock closed the small suitcase he had brought with him and put it in a corner for later use.

"As if you Holmes brothers haven't already deduced the plan from my left cheek or something", John replied with a wry smile. "But I guess I'll humour you."

He then outlined his plan while the other two gave pointers here and there to ensure a smoother execution. The whole discussion took barely five minutes. Mycroft was the first to leave the room to see to some last-minute arrangements and to ensure that no suspicion would be raised by John and Mycroft returning at the same time. John himself left only a minute later, though not without giving a very eager parting kiss to Sherlock for good measure.

When he reappeared in the main body of the church, John found his mother, as Mary had promised, in a bad mood, although he almost had to congratulate her on her acting skills, as she feigned just the opposite. She smiled at her guests, but her shoulders were squared, her posture stiff. Even though John had spent the last twenty years away from his family, he still remembered the signs.

As soon as she saw him, Lady Watson seized his arm with a sunny smile.

"Johnny dear, there you are!" she announced loudly for everyone to hear. "Well, let me see the results of that man's efforts. Did he get rid of all the stains?"

She leaned in closer, scrutinising the shirt and suit jacket while hissing quietly.

"What took you so long?"

"Contrary to your belief, Mr Welsh isn't a magician", John snorted, calmly allowing her to pass judgment on the new clothes. After a moment she stepped back, barely satisfied.

"Well, it's not perfect, but I'm sure the photos won't look too bad."

At this he really had a hard time keeping down the smirk that wanted to show on his face.

"Well then, Johnny, since you, as one of the two main attractions for today, are finally here, I think we can start, don't you? Oh by the way, Cousin Richard, Henry and Alan complained about a change in seating. I promised to clear it up before we start since they are supposed to be sitting in the front row. I'm sure your guests of honour will be perfectly fine in one of the back rows, don't you think?"

John's face hardened immediately at the mention of the Holmes family.

"No, Violet, Siger and Mycroft are staying exactly where they are and that's my last word", he declared, voice firm and he glared at her with a look that forestalled any objection. For once his mother backed down, though she looked unhappy about it.

"Fine, then don't stand around, Johnny. Your place is at the front of the church, is it not? I'm sure your lovely bride is already waiting impatiently. Poor Cathy, she must be so nervous by now with the delay."

"Oh yes, poor thing", John murmured sourly, but he made sure his voice was too low to be heard as he walked slowly up towards the altar. His family started whispering excitedly, realising the event was about to start. He threw a quick look over to his friends, who occupied the seats in the middle pews. Most of them looked politely interested especially Molly and Mike's wife who looked rather uncomfortable with the snobbish and wealthy people all around. John couldn't blame the women. As far as he remembered, there were few people in his family who didn't look down on people unless they had a title or a significant amount of wealth.

In all honesty, John feared that after the wedding was over, he would owe his friends an apology. Not only because he had neglected to give them fair warning of the unpleasant company, but also for the surprise they were about to receive.

Mrs Hudson seemed to be faring a bit better. She was sitting together with Mary, and neither woman would take any nonsense. His landlady still looked sceptical about the whole business. John knew she wasn't happy with the event, especially since she was aware that he'd been forced into this, but he suspected she'd feel better the moment she learned who he was really marrying. After she processed the shock, of course.

Which brought him to the last of his personal guests. His sister and the Holmes family. Siger, Violet and Harry were looking confused by the proceedings. Looking back, Violet's reaction to his mother made sense now. Of course Sherlock's parents had already been informed about the deception. No wonder Violet Holmes had been so angry. John was really touched that her fury had been not only for her son, but also for his sake. His sister knew, along with every Holmes present, who he had met in the backrooms and he guessed they were expecting the whole farce to be stopped, preferably with a loud bang. So Mycroft hadn't informed them of the change in plans. Well, he was sure they wouldn't mind what he'd come up with in the least. He nodded to each of them in turn, even the indifferent-looking Mycroft, with a small, reassuring smile.

When he reached the end of the aisle where Greg was standing, John noticed he was looking slightly confused. He assumed Greg's puzzlement was based on his current behaviour. John said nothing though, just smiled grimly before taking his place. Then the music started, announcing the arrival of the bride. Time for the show to begin.

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

Once more life kept me rather busy, but finally I'm ready to post the next chapter. Thank you all very much for waiting so patiently. Only one more chapter to go. :)

* * *

Title: **And Blood Doesn**'**t Count  
**Part: 10/11  
Author: Usagi-Atemu-Tom  
Rating: PG 13  
Genre: Adventure, Mystery  
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, AU to Season 3, Happy End  
Pairings: Sherlock/John

Feedback: Always welcome and dearly appreciated

Summary: The wedding finally starts. The bride walks down the aisle. For a lot of people, this won't end up as a happy day. John and Sherlock, dish out their revenge.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, everything belongs to their respective creators including certainly the great Sir Conan Arthur Doyle as well as Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and of course the talented actors who gifted the characters with their great personality.

And not to forget, much thanks to Patroklos for suffering through my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors and also her invaluable patience in general with me taking so long lately!

* * *

With John firmly in place and music announcing the entrance of the bride, the excited whispers of the guests quietened down until only the melodic sound of the organ could be heard. The doors opened and Cathy entered the church. She was accompanied by a procession of young bridesmaids strewing flowers along her path. Under different circumstances, John would have thought the scene rather charming. The little girls looked cute in their white dresses, complimenting the stunning dress of the bride. Cathy looked absolutely radiant, John noted before he could help himself. But no matter her character, he could still admire beauty when he saw it, couldn't he?

For a moment he felt deep sorrow within him as he mourned the wonderful friendship they had shared as children. When she was small, she'd sought John out for the sake of his company, not because he was wealthy and the son of a powerful family. The memories softened his resolve slightly, as he watched her walking down the aisle. But then he remembered Sherlock, how for one short moment John had seen under the usually collected facade and caught a glimpse of a great heart. A heart that belonged to him alone and which had been deeply hurt by the thought of John's death.

Standing beside his best man, watching the beaming bride proceeding towards them, John remembered the heartbreak of suffering through Sherlock's death a second time. Cathy had seen him falling apart, had stood by and allowed his parents to terrorise him until his will to fight had left him for good. And hadn't Sherlock said that she was planning to drug him this very night to ensure they had sex? When he thought about it objectively, John realised that what she had planned was nothing other than rape.

No, Cathy didn't deserve his mercy. John was usually tolerant and he had the patience of a saint, Sherlock could attest to that, but everyone had their limits and his own family, as well as his childhood friend, had managed to reach his spectacularly. Glancing at Lord and Lady Watson, who were standing in their place as the groom's parents, looking proud and arrogant, John threw them a dark, foreboding look. They didn't notice, as they were busy watching the bride, but it didn't matter.

When Cathy arrived at her place by his side, John took her hand, as was expected, and both turned towards the vicar, who started the service as everyone sat down. This took some time, and John was amused to notice the man was a bit unsure at the beginning and stumbled over his words. After all, he had been informed by Mycroft that John would marry someone else today and now he was standing here, still with Cathy by his side.

John withheld any reaction until they came to the moment where the vicar addressed the couple directly.

"Cathy Stormhill", the elderly man asked, "do you take John Hamish Watson as your husband, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"

She smiled at John, eyes twinkling.

"Yes, I do!"

"And do you, John Hamish Watson take Cathy Stormhill as your wife, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"

John smiled back at her, but it was obviously fake.

"Of course I do", he stated with a strong voice before his face turned thunderous and he added harshly, "**not**!"

Silence feel over the church as people tried to digest what he had just said. In the background he could see flashlights going off as reporters eagerly took photos of what was turning out to be a huge scandal. Cathy's smile fell when he announced his refusal so viciously and she looked unsure at first, then crestfallen. Lady Watson's reaction was much more vehement. She jumped half out of her seat, her mouth open as if she wanted to protest. Her whole posture screamed of outrage. Mission accomplished so far then. John first turned to Cathy, looking at her angrily.

"I've finally found out what you've done and what you plan to do tonight, Cathy", he told her in a tight voice. "You can thank God that I'm not going to tell this church full of guests the details, or my best man would be forced to arrest you. I think the humiliation of my refusal in front of the whole wedding party should do for now."

"But John, I don't... understand", Cathy whispered, lips shaking with emotion.

"Spare me, Cathy. If you don't understand now, you will soon enough. And as for you!"

He whirled around, looking at his parents with eyes blazing.

"You've done a fine job these last few months of more or less terrorising me into this whole circus", he growled furiously. "But no more, I'm done following your commands!"

John paused for a second and Lady Watson opened her mouth ready to protest, but he cut her off with a large, fake smile.

"Spare me, mother. I'm not listening to any more of your shit. I admit you're right about one thing, though, I really need to get married. But I've decided to do it on my own terms, you understand, I'm sure."

John grinned at a totally bewildered-looking Greg before he turned towards Cathy's parents, who looked shocked beyond belief.

"Mr and Mrs Stormhill? I'm so sorry about all the inconvenience, but as you can see, I'm just not fit to marry your daughter", he apologised with false sincerity. Under different circumstances he might have felt honest regret, but he remembered Cathy's parents very well. They'd been just as arrogant as his own family.

"And, since I'm not marrying your daughter today, I'm sure you understand that you'll need to change your seats with the parents of the person I do intend to marry instead."

The Stormhills looked offended. Cathy, who seemed to have had enough after first being given a dressing down by John and then being ignored, started to sob and ran over to her parents. They took her in their arms, glaring angrily at him.

"If you expect us to stay one minute longer at this... this WEDDING, John Watson, you're deeply mistaken", the mother ranted, lifting her nose high. "We're leaving! Cathy, come along!"

They wheeled around with a crying bride between them.

"Well, I'm so sorry you're leaving so soon", John called after them sarcastically. "But maybe it's for the best. As a doctor I advise your daughter to seek psychological help. Best arrange an appointment as soon as possible. Their waiting list is always months long."

Cathy's father turned around, face furious.

"For traumatising and embarrassing our poor child on her wedding day, Watson?"

"No", John replied innocently, "for her addiction to gambling. Oh, didn't you know about that?"

Cathy let out a cry of anguish, before breaking away from her parents and fleeing the church. Mr and Mrs Stormhill followed quickly, but not before threatening John's parents with dire consequences. The reporters were scribbling furiously in their notebooks and shooting dozens of pictures.

"John Hamish Watson, you... you!" His mother was beyond fury now. She stood in place, one hand clamped into the fabric of her blouse as if she was suffering a heart attack. His father looked equally angry, already beyond words.

John simply waved them away, not looking sorry at all. He was on a roll now. Turning towards Greg, who had been watching the whole scene, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, John grinned before regarding his friends. Mary was beaming at him and Harry had to hold both hands in front of her mouth to ensure their parents didn't realise she was laughing.

Mrs Hudson, Molly, Mike and his wife on the other hand looked torn between shock and amusement. John's eyes next searched out Sherlock's family, who had all been sitting in the front pew, near Cathy's parents. Violet and Siger were both smiling, though Sherlock's mother couldn't help shooting dirty looks at Lady Watson now and then. Mycroft looked as unfazed as always, but John could have sworn his lips were twitching slightly, suppressing a smile.

John nodded at the older Holmes brother before turning directly to Mycroft's parents.

"Violet, Siger I hinted that just because I won't be marrying Cathy today doesn't mean I won't marry at all. My parents have so been hoping for a wedding and they invited all these guests, I'd rather not disappoint them. I wonder if you'd do me the honour of taking the place of the bride's parents, since that is the role in store for you. I apologise for the short notice, of course."

Violet and Siger Holmes exchanged shocked looks, before glancing accusingly at Mycroft who couldn't help the small smile directed towards his parents as he nodded in confirmation. Violet jumped up, running to John with a joyful cry.

"Oh John! John!" She pulled him into a tight hug. John chuckled, returning the gesture once he was over his surprise.

"I'll take that as your blessing then?" he asked with a grin and Violet sniffed a little, unable to hold back tears of happiness.

"Silly boy, you've been part of this family for a long time", she scolded fondly before turning to her oldest son. "Mycroft dear, you could have warned your poor parents. Don't you think I've had enough heart attacks over the past few days?"

"I thought you might enjoy this kind of surprise, Mummy", Mycroft declared with a small smile. His parents shock their heads good-naturedly.

Sadly the happy moment was interrupted by John's mother who, after enduring so many shocks, had finally regained her senses.

"John Hamish Watson!" she shouted, stomping over. All her good manners had been forgotten in the face of her fury at what John had done.

"You're not telling me that you plan to marry Mycroft Holmes of all people!" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down. "That's a rather poor joke, even for you. As if you haven't done enough already! Look at our guests! And oh God, the reporters are having a field day. How could you?"

"Oh please, don't be ridiculous, mother", John snorted. "Of course it would be a poor joke if I married Mycroft. As you might remember, I'm in love with someone else, not him. And do I look as if I care what our family or the reporters think? You wanted this circus. You invited them here, so deal with it!"

He pushed her away before she could utter another word and turned towards the pews where most of his friends were sitting.

"Dear guests. I apologise for the trouble and confusion about who exactly I'm marrying today. As some of you know, it was never my intention to get married, especially to Cathy. That's one of the many reasons why I just turned the bride down. There are a lot more, but I refuse to provide this family with any more ammunition for gossip. As I told my mother just now, I do indeed plan to marry today, since she's so desperate for me to do so. But I warn you now, this marriage will be anything but the posh event they're used to.

"As I'm sure my mother has neglected to inform you, my previous partner was a man. Oh yes, shocking I know", John added sarcastically when he heard the first gasps of outrage from some of his aunts. "Anyway, if you're not interested in seeing two men getting married, feel free to leave any time."

As if on command, most of the older members of his family stood up. Mothers grabbed their crying children and with a lot of shuffling and moaning they slowly left the church, all of them throwing looks of outrage towards his mother who had paled considerably. John had to admit he was surprised when more of his family stayed than he had expected. Though, he guessed it shouldn't be too much of a surprise. Most of them were younger than his parents, a generation that had grown up with the concept of homosexuality. His family might look down on such couples all the same, but it wouldn't prevent his cousins and aunts from staying behind to gather titbits they could later talk about behind his back.

It was not as if John cared. He knew a lot of their actions were based on envy. More important than those members of his family who had stayed behind were his own friends. Of course, Molly and Mrs Hudson, as well as Mike and his wife, were all sitting in their seats, looking rather confused. Greg certainly mirrored their expressions. He was still gaping at John.

"Well it's not as if I'm surprised you don't want to marry her", the stumped Detective Inspector spluttered, "but where the hell has all this fighting spirit suddenly come from, mate? Of course I'm glad to finally see you standing up for yourself a bit, but didn't you say you were too tired to fight for now?"

John grinned, glancing gleefully towards his mother.

"Yeah, I know I said that, Greg, and believe me, I certainly was at the end of my strength. Today, though, I witnessed a second miracle. You have no idea how much strength such a moment can give you. I feel like I could go against the whole of the world."

Grinning over at Mary and Harry, the only other people besides the Holmes family who knew what he was talking about, John addressed the rest of his friends.

"What I'm going to say now is really only important for my friends, and for Sherlock's, John announced. "The rest of the family can think what they want, I don't care. Six months ago we had to mourn for a very good friend, most of us for the second time. On the first occasion, it was all Sherlock's doing. Now I just want to tell you that despite all the shock and confusion you're about to experience, you mustn't blame him for what happened the second time. For once, it wasn't his doing. Sherlock has suffered enough because he was tricked into believing that I was dead. Thankfully, he and Mycroft were able to uncover the whole scheme just in time. I promise we'll explain all the details later today, but right now I just want to prepare you for another shock when he walks in here alive. We all know Sherlock loves his dramatics."

"Ah, I'd say today you've given the whole church a far better show than I ever could, John", a familiar voice objected from the entrance of the church. Molly and Mrs Hudson let out a shriek of joyful surprise. But it was nothing compared to the one John's own mother uttered, when she saw Sherlock Holmes standing in his glorious wedding suit at the door.

"YOU!" she shouted hysterically, at the sight of Sherlock alive, drowning out both Molly and Mrs Hudson. "That's impossible. My agents told me you were still in Germany with no idea of what's been going on."

Sherlock looked unfazed as he stepped towards them, while John glared daggers at his own flesh and blood.

"If I had any lingering doubt left, your confession just now would have taken care of that beautifully, mother", he let out between clenched teeth. "I can't believe you actually did this. How could you?"

His mother was silent, her face pale while she looked around, as if searching for someone. Mycroft stepped forward, smiling at the frantic woman with false cheer.

"Lady Watson", he addressed her quietly, making sure no one outside their small group could hear his words. "If you're looking for your fancy guards, I'm afraid they're already under arrest. After we successfully smuggled my brother into the church to see John, it was easy to take care of them without risking exposure. I believe they're already back at headquarters, about to answer several uncomfortable questions regarding actions undertaken without authorisation."

"Guards?" Greg, who had been gaping at Sherlock until now, choked out the word, frantically trying to understand what was going on. Meanwhile Molly, Mrs Hudson and Mike had rushed over to greet Sherlock with hugs or kisses, all of which he endured with unusual patience. Mary, Harry and Mike's wife followed at a more sedate pace, but they still arrived in time to hear the answer to Greg's question.

"Yes, guards, to ensure no one could interfere with John's marriage to Ms Stormhill today", Sherlock said, looking unperturbed but for the anger burning in his eyes. "Which is why I had to be smuggled inside to meet John. There's no doubt that if I had shown up here as myself, they would have seized me before I could have taken a step inside, maybe even worse."

"Taken you... what the hell!" Greg cursed under his breath but was prevented from further comment when John's mother finally regained her composure.

"I'm not going to stand here and allow you to accuse me like this", she declared haughtily. "John, I could never have imagined that you would embarrass me like this, you ungrateful boy. Why have I been punished with not only one but two children that have dragged the family name through the mud? Hamish!"

She looked over towards her husband who had remained in his seat, seemingly unaffected but, to John and also the keen eyes of the Holmes brothers, very pale. When his wife addressed him, he stood and walked over.

"Yes dear?"

"We're leaving!" Lady Watson announced. "I refuse to stay a second longer while my own flesh and blood plans to do nothing but embarrass me further."

"I wouldn't advise you to leave yet, Lady Watson", Sherlock interrupted, before she had a chance to turn around. She glared at him, narrowing her eyes. Sherlock didn't react in kind. Quite the opposite, in fact. His lips twitched into a quick, sardonic smile, before he nodded towards the many people still inside the church.

"Look at all the people here, especially the reporters. You value the power your family has and the lack of scandal so far. You strive for control which is why you work at the same place my brother does, so that you can neutralise any threat before it can taint your family's reputation. Today you suffered a huge blow to that power. But if you, the mother of one of the grooms, leave now, think what the headlines in tomorrow's papers will be. Can you afford to lose any more face than you already have, dearest 'mother'?"

John held his breath for a moment, as Sherlock dared to address his mother as a son-in-law might, worse, the mocking undertone couldn't be mistaken. Lady Watson certainly understood the insult for what it was, as her reddening face confirmed. When she looked around though, noticing for the first time since her angry outburst the eager faces of family and reporters alike, waiting for more juicy gossip, she took a deep breath and straightened her posture.

"You'll regret this", she hissed and John wasn't sure if it was meant for Sherlock or himself. Probably both of them. "When the wedding is over, you'll have to face the consequences of your actions."

John opened his mouth to give an angry retort, but Mycroft was faster.

"Oh, I'm sure consequences will follow at the end of the day, Lord and Lady Watson", he confirmed smoothly. "In fact, I insist that you as a family join John and Sherlock's closest friends for a short debriefing later tonight. There's a lot we have to discuss, including some evidence I'm sure everyone will be interested to see."

John didn't think his parents could blanche any further, but Mycroft engineered it beautifully. Grinning, the doctor turned first to Sherlock, then to the unlucky vicar, who was looking very confused.

"Well, now that's taken care of, I'd say we have a wedding to finish. Everything else can wait until later, don't you agree?"

"Oh, if we must", Sherlock sighed theatrically, before his mask fell and he sent a contemptuous smile towards the not-amused Watsons who were returning to their seats rather stiffly.

"Wait a second, you're REALLY going to marry, John?" Molly asked, flabbergasted, before glancing at Sherlock.

"Quick conclusion", he told her dryly, before shrugging his shoulders indifferently. Molly squeaked.

"Oh my God! Congratulations to you both."

"Just don't expect this whole thing to be one of those cosy, mushy romance-novel weddings you like to indulge yourself with, Molly", Sherlock reprimanded her, though his voice sounded a lot kinder than it would have with anyone else. She still blushed slightly, but looked unhurt about his comment.

"I'm still happy for you", she declared stubbornly before smiling shyly at John. "No offense, John, but I prefer this kind of wedding to anything else that could have taken place today. It certainly suits you better, both of you."

"Yeah, a wedding simply to spite my parents is just like Sherlock, isn't it?" John chuckled, looking fondly at his lover, who frowned in response.

"Don't forget to mention it was all your idea, John."

"And who agreed?" was the uncaring reply. Greg let out a groan.

"Dear God, what have I got myself into?" he complained and buried his face in one hand. "Do you still insist of me being your best man, John? Alright, in that case I will need a lot to drink to get through tonight. Oh, and you two owe me for all the shit you're putting me through right now."

"Technically it's John's parents who owe you", Sherlock corrected arrogantly. "Come on, Lestrade, if you're John's best men, you should take your position or we're never getting this wedding done."

"Ah, just a moment", interrupted Mrs Hudson, taking Sherlock's hand. "Greg is John's best man, but Sherlock dear, you need someone as well."

The consulting detective looked stunned.

"A best man? Really Mrs Hudson, I don't think that's necessary."

"Nonsense, every groom has his best man, it's tradition", their landlady protested forcefully. "Even you have to stick to it, Sherlock Holmes!"

"I agree", interrupted Violet, who had not yet returned to her seat. "A best man can be a friend or a relative, Sherlock, therefore I think I have the perfect solution for you."

She glanced over to Mycroft, and both her sons groaned when they realised her plan.

"Mummy!" Sherlock complained loudly.

"Sherlock!" she replied warningly. "Mycroft has always tried to keep you safe, not to mention he has assisted greatly today in your reunion with John. Wouldn't you say he deserves the honour?"

John glanced over at Mycroft, whose lips were suspiciously twitching downwards. He didn't look like he felt honoured in the slightest. Sighing John turned towards Sherlock's mother, trying to look innocent.

"Violet, may I suggest something?"

"Of course, John", Mrs Holmes answered.

"We all know that Mycroft doesn't like to be in the spotlight, as he surely would be if he stood as Sherlock's best man now", John explained, voice soothing. "Originally Cathy's best friend was supposed to be her matron of honour. So I was thinking, even if Sherlock is not a bride, maybe we could still stick to a matron of honour for him?"

"And who did you have in mind?" Violet asked, a small smile playing around her lips. She had seen right through John's charade but had obviously decided to play along.

"Well, how about Molly?"

"Me?" the woman in question squeaked in surprise. "But... but..."

Her voice faltered and she looked unsurely from a politely nodding Mycroft, to a beaming Violet, and a pleading John. Lastly her gaze fell on the groom in question. Sherlock looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, until finally one of his rare, small smiles played around his lips.

"No one deserves it more than you, Molly", he agreed and she smiled shyly back.

"I guess, I could do it," she stuttered, still a bit nervous.

"Great! If that's all taken care of, I think we can start the ceremony, don't you agree?" John declared, cheerfully, clapping his hands. "Come on, get to your seats, guys!"

He ushered everyone to their places, before grabbing Sherlock's hand and leading him towards the altar, where the vicar, Greg and Molly now stood waiting. Sherlock let out one last, long-suffering sigh before he looked at John with a surprising amount of fondness in his eyes.

"The things I do for you, John Watson."

"Well, considering the many break-ins and confrontations with armed criminals I've followed you to, I'd say we're even", John grinned, which earned him an upward twitch of Sherlock's lips in return.

With an unspoken signal, both men faced forward. The excited crowd slowly quietened and the vicar, after taking a moment to collect himself, stuttered through the opening words of the ceremony. Since the poor man had no idea how to handle the situation, he deemed it best to start from the beginning.

However Sherlock, already bored and impatient after only two sentences, declared in no uncertain terms that they could skip the parts everyone had already heard and get straight to the main questions. John had to soften the verbal blow a bit, or the poor cleric might have lost his ability to speak once more.

After that, the ceremony went smoothly for a while. John and Sherlock both answered the "Do you want to take this man as your lawful wedded husband?" with a clear "Yes" though Sherlock's impatient "Yesyesyes, can't you speak any faster? This standing around is really tedious!" rather detracted from the solemnity of the occasion. The next halt occurred when Greg and Molly were asked to present the rings for the exchange. Greg had been holding onto John's ring since the moment the doctor loudly declared his refusal to marry Cathy. Sherlock, though, had forgotten to hand his ring over to Molly for safe keeping.

"Oh well, just give me the ring then", John told him with a shrug and a grin, holding out his hand expectantly. Sherlock pulled the requested item out and looked sceptically at the ring John was supposed to put on his own finger.

"Do I have to wear it permanently after the ceremony?" Sherlock asked him disdainfully, mouth slightly tilted downwards in displeasure. The vicar looked scandalised, mouth open. John even noticed one of his relatives, a cousin if he recognised correctly, snorting into his hand to suppress his gloating laughter.

In the front row, Violet half rose out of her seat.

"William Sherlock Scott!"

But all John could do was laugh happily at the question, grinning at Sherlock.

"Not if it's too sentimental for you, love", he answered merrily. There was a cough as if someone was choking (John was betting it was the same cousin) and Greg exchanged a quiet snicker of amusement with Molly over their antics.

"We'll see", Sherlock decided generously, finally handing the ring to his husband-to-be. John went first, taking Sherlock's hand carefully in his own.

"Sherlock, to be honest, I'm a bit overwhelmed and unprepared right now", he began. "This morning, I still believed my best friend, the person I loved most in the world, was dead and I had no idea how to continue with my life. But now I'm standing here and I know it's customary to exchange personal vows. I also know, of course, that you don't care about such sentiments at all", John quickly added when Sherlock was about to open his mouth. "But I really want to. So, with this ring I vow that I will always love you and that next time I'm indisposed for a case that takes you away from Baker Street I'm coming with you anyway."

He took the ring and placed it firmly on Sherlock's third finger. Afterwards he allowed his lover to take his own hand and Sherlock presented the other ring to John.

"You're right John, I really don't care about all this sentimental nonsense, but I guess you've always been able to persuade me to make exceptions", Sherlock replied softly. "I'm not good at this, you know that, John. In my opinion, weddings are simply a farce, meaningless vows between two people who might already be cheating with the best friend of the supposed love of their life.

"I don't let my heart rule my head, as you so often do, John. I see facts, I look at the evidence and draw my own conclusions. More often than not I've criticised you for wasting so much time writing your blog, for romanticising our adventures instead of keeping to the facts. Honestly, I shudder to think how you'll describe this latest case. Please don't concentrate too much on cloying expressions of love and sentiment.

"Don't get me wrong, though. No matter my personal opinion about weddings, John, believe me when I say I'm proud to stand beside you at this moment. As most of you know, I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious asshole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. I'm dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful and uncomprehending in the face of the happy, so if I didn't understand why I was being asked to stand here by your side until today, it's because I never expected to be anybody's most beloved, and certainly not of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing.

"So, here we are today, maybe not under the most favourable of circumstances for a wedding. Yet here we are, in front of your... ", Sherlock coughed a little and John got the feeling he was the slightest bit embarrassed, even though to everyone else he looked as cool and collected as always.

"Well, that is to say, OUR friends, to affirm our partnership in the presence of witnesses. I know that, even though you have tried to appear nonchalant for my sake, this ceremony has meaning for you. Really John, you can't hide that from me. So, I'd like to say that in this church you're surrounded by people who are important to you, unfavourable family aside, but know this", Sherlock paused, swallowed and John couldn't help but notice that for once his partner looked overtly nervous. "Today you stand beside the man you have saved - in short, the person who loves you most in all this world. I will never let you down and I have a lifetime ahead to prove that. Let this ring be a symbol of my vow to you."

Sherlock lifted John's hand a little higher before putting the ring on his finger. He was so immersed in the task, he didn't notice until he was done the sudden silence that had fallen inside the church. One look at John confirmed that he had dangerously shiny eyes. Greg looked touched, while Molly, Mary and Harry had tears in their eyes. Mrs Hudson and Violet couldn't hold back sobs, and even the other men were looking rather astonished.

John smiled as Sherlock's confusion continued to grow until the detective turned to him, unsure.

"Did I say something wrong?" Sherlock whispered. "Why do you all look about to cry?"

John had to rub his own eyes quickly to hide the evidence of his own tears, before giving Sherlock a heartfelt smile.

"No, you did nothing wrong", he replied quietly. "In fact, that was quite beautiful."

John looked pleadingly towards the vicar, who appeared to have lost his voice as a result of Sherlock's speech.

"Can I?" he nearly begged, waking the man from his stupor.

"Oh, of course, of course", the vicar said, coughing once before declaring. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and... er, wed. You may kiss your husband."

No sooner had the man finished these words, than John had pulled the still half-confused Sherlock into his arms and caught his lips in a loving, lingering kiss. In the back of his mind, John heard the first clapping of their guests. Some women were sobbing, he suspected these included Sherlock's mother and Mrs Hudson. His musings evaporated though, when his husband finally caught up with him and started kissing back eagerly.

They were wed.

TBC...


End file.
